


The Night Market

by MagpieTales



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris
Genre: Christmas, F/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieTales/pseuds/MagpieTales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vacation. A few weeks off. Was that really too much to ask? I deserved it, surely. After the takeover, after everything I'd done for the vampires.  And when the one vamp who was supposed to be on my side told me I couldn't go, that was never going to fly with me. (Sookie's POV)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night Market

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fangbanger's Anonymous Advent Calendar 2015. I've cleaned it up, changed some minor details so it fits better with canon, and added two chapters to make this a Valentine's treat.
> 
> Set a few months after From Dead to Worse and the takeover. A reminder: Amelia is living with Sookie and dating Tray; Sookie has met Niall and knows she is part-fairy; Eric has regained his memories; and although Sookie is unhappy about the bond, she and Eric are together.
> 
> In this version: Eric stays away to keep Victor and Felipe from realising how important Sookie is to him, but Sookie doesn't wait patiently. She goes to Fangtasia to confront him. Consequently, their relationship develops earlier, but as usual with those two, that doesn't mean it goes smoothly. Further, having their connection out in the open puts Sookie on Victor's radar that much sooner. Eric, in a precarious position with the new regime, is desperate to protect her but they can't agree on how to do that. Fed up with their arguments and the danger in Area 5, Sookie takes a vacation.

 

“Let's go, slowpoke,” Amelia called from the corridor as she rapped on my door.

“Coming,” I called back, hunting for my gloves and scarf. There! On the dresser.

They were red to match my cranberry coat and I'd bought them when I discovered that December on this side of the Atlantic was colder than this Southern gal could take without a layer of wool. I threw the scarf around my neck and shoved the gloves in a pocket, but when I reached the door the feeling I'd forgotten something came over me. I patted my pockets, checked my tote bag and glanced around the hotel room, but I couldn't put my finger on what I'd left behind.

Then I realised what it was I was missing: tall, blonde and dead.

Sadly, Eric wasn't hiding under the bed. Or in the closet. Neither had he graced my hotel room in Paris last week, nor the one in Rome the week before that. It had been almost three weeks since I'd seen him and considering the terms we parted on hadn't been altogether amicable I ought to stop expecting him to show up at any moment.

Somehow I couldn't shake the hope that he would.

A ridiculous hope given the sun shining through the window. Doubly ridiculous as I was the one who'd run away when the going got tough, and to another continent no less.

I missed him like crazy. So much it hurt.

But Amelia was waiting and I'd promised myself I wouldn't waste what was likely to be my one and only tour of Europe on any pity parties. Shaking off the heavy, sinking loneliness that threatened to creep over me whenever I thought about Eric for too long, I plastered on as near a genuine smile as I could and opened the door.

“About time,” Amelia huffed. She was bundled up for the cold in a smart black pea-coat and a vivid turquoise scarf that complemented the sparkle of excitement in her eyes.

“Sorry. Couldn't find my gloves,” I said as I shut the door.

Without further preamble, she waved me towards the elevator and began to chatter about our plans for the day.

Her plans, I should say. This was Amelia's trip. Her father had dangled a blank check under her nose and practically begged her to leave Louisiana for a solid month and get away from 'those weird folks you hang out with'. Meaning other witches. Amelia didn't usually pay any mind to Copley Carmichael's disapproval, but the suggestion of a European tour proved too big a temptation and I came home one night to find travel brochures all over the kitchen table and Amelia's hopeful face. She didn't want to travel alone.

I'd just endured yet another week of too many double shifts at Merlotte's and too many arguments with Eric over how to handle the latest shenanigans from Victor Madden, so it hadn't taken much to persuade me to tag along. Copley, thank the Lord, didn't know I was up to my eyeballs in my own supe problems, or he'd have been none too pleased with Amelia's choice of travelling companion.

Our tour had encompassed Paris and Rome so far. Before we headed to London, we were spending a long weekend in Cologne to see the famous Christmas markets. Not that I'd heard of them, but Amelia sure had. She was talking nineteen to the dozen about them as we left the hotel. I made all the right noises and nodded in all the right places, and if my heart wasn't quite in it Amelia was kind enough to pretend she hadn't noticed.

Just like she'd pretended not to notice how quiet I went at the Colosseum, when our tour-guide spoke at length about Christians and lions and gladiators, and all I could picture was Eric's maker, who was a Roman, sitting on one of the stone seats and revelling in the cruel brutality.

Just like she'd pretended not to notice me brushing away a tear or two when we took a trip up the Eiffel Tower and all I could see, despite the beauty of Paris at night spread before me, was the umpteenth couple kissing against the twinkling backdrop, and my arms and lips ached for Eric.

With every night that went by without him, my heart had chilled a little more until it sat heavy as a stone in my chest. It was getting hard to pretend I was anything other than miserable, but Amelia was a good friend and I didn't want to ruin her trip. Or seem ungrateful — I'd seen some amazing places and sights I never would have without her.

So I slipped my arm through hers as we turned a corner and forced seasonal cheer into my voice. “Christmas markets here we come.”

~~00~~

It was a gorgeous winter's day, cool and crisp, with a clear, ice-blue sky. The first market on our itinerary was nestled at the foot of the tallest cathedral I'd ever seen, and I'd seen more cathedrals than you could shake a bishop's crook at in the last few weeks. This one was impressive, so we took a quick tour. I oohed and aahed at the beautiful stained-glass windows, and groaned and moaned at the spiral staircase Amelia insisted we climb. _Five hundred and nine_ dizzying steps later, the spectacular view over Cologne and the Rhine took the last of my breath.

On the way down, legs aching, I pushed away thoughts of someone who could fly me to the ground in an instant.

The market was lovely. Neat rows of red wooden stalls sold beautiful ornaments and gifts, the air smelt of cinnamon and spices, and the food stalls were amazing. I ate enough fried potatoes and bratwurst to satisfy a Southern gal's hankering for some down-home cooking, washed down with the Gluhwein that Amelia said I just had to try. Spiced and dark and warming, it came in cutesy commemorative mugs that you could pay extra to keep. Amelia thought that was just a great idea, especially after she drank a third mug of the stuff. Between the wine and the bite in the air, her cheeks were rosy by midday and I couldn't help smirking every time I glanced her way.

As the sky began to cloud, we hit a second market. This one specialised in hand-crafted goods and we entered through an archway decorated with wooden gnomes. Heinzelmännchen, house gnomes who did the chores while you weren't looking, Amelia explained.

Shame they weren't real, I could sure use one of those to take back home.

The little bearded statues were all over: on top of stalls, peaking over garlands, tucked amongst the wares. I spotted traditional garden gnomes wearing red-and-white Santa hats, gnomes carrying candles, gnomes wearing glasses, gnomes working wood, gnomes baking cakes, and family groups with grandmothers in rocking chairs and baby gnomes in cradles. Even a punk gnome with a pink beard.

The fairy-lights on the stalls began to glow against the darkening sky, bringing fond memories of Gran, hands on hips, telling a teenage Jason exactly how to hang a string of lights over the porch back home. Amelia stopped to look at some hand-blown glass baubles. The woman behind the counter sold crystals too, and they got into an involved discussion about the finer points of where to position amethyst to promote meditation. Uninterested, I drifted to the next stall to admire the hand-painted mugs and tankards, wondering idly if Jason would like one.

Two pink-cheeked kids in green woollen hats barrelled past me, chattering loudly in German and pointing excitedly at the roof of a stall opposite. I looked over. They were making a game out of spotting the gnomes. Smiling to myself, I turned back to the tankards and my eyes fell on a gnome hidden amongst them. Barely six inches tall, it had a long nose, a grey beard and a blue jacket.

It winked at me.

I was sure it did, but when I squinted at it suspiciously, I felt an idiot. It was just another wooden statue, albeit a well-carved one. It must have been a trick of the light. Still, maybe it wouldn't hurt to check with my telepathy—

Amelia tugged on my arm and said in a rush, “Sookie, there's another market we just have to see. A night market.”

“What?” I said, turning round to face her. “I thought we were staying at this one. I want to see it lit up.”

“Please, Sookie. It sounds amazing and it's not far.” She gave me the puppy dog eyes. “If it's terrible, we can come back here.”

It _was_ her trip. I sighed. “Fine, fine. We'll go.”

She ushered me out of the market, round a corner, and along a quiet street of houses painted pink and blue and cream. I snapped a few pictures, they were so pretty, even though it was really too dark to get a good shot. A laughing couple passed us, going the other way, back towards the market we just left. We were heading away from the crowds and the lights, I realised uneasily.

“How come everyone else is going that way if this night market is so great?” I grumbled, but Amelia wasn't listening. She'd stopped to consult a scrap of paper.

“Almost there,” she murmured to herself.

“Who gave you those directions?”

“Oh,” she said airily, setting off again. “The witch with the crystals.”

“Witch?” I bit back a groan. That explained her eagerness. If her father thought a trip to Europe was gonna cure Amelia of her craft, he was sadly mistaken. Louisiana wasn't the only place with covens and Amelia had spoken to more witches in the last few weeks than she had in the last year. With me along for the ride, and interacting with witches came with certain hazards. The trouble we barely got out of in Rome…

So I wasn't as thrilled as Amelia was about a market frequented by witches. Still, I hurried after her as she marched further along the street, my footsteps loud on the cobbles.

“Ah-ha!” she cried triumphantly, pointing at an alley sandwiched between a blue house and one painted, from what I could make out in the dusk, a pale terracotta.

The alley was unlit. An elaborate ironwork arch marked the dark entrance and a wilting bunch of greenery hung from it. Holy, ivy, maybe some mistletoe. It was hard to tell from the limp leaves and the patch of fallen berries squished on the ground beneath it.

“Are you sure this is it?” I asked dubiously, but Amelia was already moving and my words were spoken to her retreating back. Muttering under my breath about impulsive friends, I followed her into the alley.

~~00~~

Light. That was the first thing I noticed after I passed under the arch.

Light that hadn't been there a second ago, reflecting off damp cobbles and bricks, edging them with gold. More light, warm and yellow, split around a corner up ahead, a corner that I was sure hadn't been there before. One moment there had only been the sounds of our footsteps; now there was the low hum of distant voices, the quiet bustle of a busy street and the faint strains of music.

I stopped dead, sucking in an anxious hiss of air.

Amelia glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Neat, huh?”

Neat was not what I'd called it. Passing through strange archways that made things shift and change could only mean one thing: Magic.

Maybe even a portal, like the one to Fairy in the woods back home. That was a terrifying idea; no way was I wanting to take any trips of that kind. My breath held, I looked behind me. The street was still there, but it was blurred, as if a thick layer of wavering glass hung from the arch, a curtain separating me from the real world. Some tourists passed by and the sound of their laughter came to me muffled and distorted, as if I were underwater.

“Are we still in Cologne?” I demanded. Because we sure weren't in Kansas.

“Yes,” Amelia said confidently. “It's just a concealment spell. I think.”

“You think?” I said sharply, about to give her a piece of my mind on the wisdom of trusting strange witches and even stranger markets.

Over her shoulder, I saw head poke around the corner ahead of us, low down and silhouetted against the light. At the same time a voice called: “Are ye wanting the night market or not?”

Amelia yelped and about leaped into next week, a hand clutching at her chest. Ha! She was just as nervous as I was, the big faker. Breathing fast, she turned to see who'd spoken and the creature that stepped into view was something out of a fairy tale. Grey-bearded and unnaturally short, he — at least I assumed it was a he from the beard — held up a lantern and looked us over with quick, dark eyes that glittered in its light. His long nose cast shadows over his gnarled brown face and he was dressed in boots, buckskin pants, a bright blue coat and a red pointed hat with a bell.

He winked at me and I gasped. It was the gnome from the tankard stall, I was sure of it! Only he was bigger now, three feet tall.

“In or out, ladies?” he said gruffly. “Quick now, give me an answer.”

His mind, unfortunately, was unreadable, darting and quicksilver like a shoal of fish. Amelia and I looked at each other and had an entirely non-verbal conversation that went something like: _Are you sure this is a good idea? Will we be safe? Yes, yes! It will be amazing. We can't possibly miss it._

“In,” I said reluctantly, wondering if I should cross my fingers behind my back for luck, or if the gnome, if that's what he was, might consider that rude.

“Ye must take the oath, then.” He put the lantern down and rooted in his coat pocket, his bushy grey eyebrows drawn down in fierce concentration.

Amelia, as curious as I was, asked him, “There's an oath?”

I held back an eye roll. Guess her witch pal hadn't mentioned that.

“Aye, a binding one,” he answered. “Not to commit any violence. Ah, here it is.” He pulled a handful of leaves and twigs out of his pocket.

“Everyone has to do it?” I wanted to make sure of that, because it would make me feel a little safer.

He nodded solemnly.

So I found myself removing my gloves, wiping my eyes with a bunch of leaves and swearing in unison with Amelia: _“By oak, and ash, and thorn, no blood shall I spill on these cobbles ere the dawn.”_

As soon as the words were spoken the air filled with the scent of wood-smoke and pine, and something tightened around my wrist — a bracelet, roughly plaited from bark and twigs.

“There,” said the gnome, in a satisfied tone. “Attack anyone and thou willst wake up in a ditch on t'other side of the Rhine, with a sore head and no notion of where thou hast been.”

“Is there anything else that would get us into trouble?” Amelia asked politely. _I really don't want to upset anyone with that kind of power._

“Mischief of all other kinds is encouraged,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “'Tis practically the season for it.”

“It is?” I said. “I thought that was Halloween.”

He rocked on his heels, mouth wide and gurgling like a blocked drain. It took me a second to work out he was laughing.

“Excuse my friend,” said Amelia, looking embarrassed. “She's, uh, Christian.”

“Oh, beg pardon. We don't get many of them,” he said, looking me over with friendly interest. He stepped aside and gestured us around the corner. “That way, ladies. Just keeping going.”

Past the corner the alley was unlit. Boughs of spruce and pine hung on the walls and the air was filled with their crisp, clean scent. There was another corner ahead, some way away and marked by a lantern.

“I thought this was a Christmas market,” I whispered, once we'd gotten a little further from the gnome. I didn't know how well he could hear and I didn't want to offend him.

“Oh, no,” Amelia said blithely. “It's for the winter solstice. And Yule, of course.”

“Of course,” I echoed sarcastically. “What was all that about mischief?”

“Oh, tricks and pranks are an old solstice tradition. Goes back to the Roman feast of Saturnalia. Master and slaves switching places, reversal of the usual order, a commoner crowned king for the day. That kind of thing.”

“Never heard of it,” I said, not sure if I wanted to get caught up in something like that.

“You know, I bet he was using a translation charm,” she said thoughtfully. “Did you notice how old-fashioned he sounded?”

I glanced back. The gnome waved cheerfully, and I gave him a small, tentative wave back. “He wasn't English? He sure sounded it.”

“I doubt it. German, probably. It's hard to tell with gnomes,” she said, trying to sound wise.

“Like you'd know. That's the first gnome you've met!” Her thoughts had betrayed her.

She shrugged sheepishly and then smiled at me. “This is so exciting, Sookie. There's nothing like it back home.”

Her grin was infectious and when she sped up, I matched her pace. It _was_ a little exciting and so far it didn't seem dangerous. So far. The noise grew louder as we approached the second corner. I picked out voices, laughter, singing and the sound of bells. We came out into a cobbled square surrounded by tall, narrow houses with painted fronts and dark wooden beams. A riot of colour and sound and smell assaulted me, and I blinked rapidly against the light of many flickering candles and lanterns. There were braziers piled high with red embers too, and my mouth watered at the smell of roasting nuts.

The square was crammed with a multitude of stalls of all sorts: wooden ones, big and small, painted and plain; vivid silk pavilions lit from within like giant coloured lanterns; and striped canvas tents that looked like they'd escaped from a circus. There was just as much variety in the folks wandering between them. Shifters, witches, demons, and other supes I couldn't recognise from their mental signatures, wearing all kinds of clothes and speaking all kinds of languages.

A troupe of acrobats tumbled past, calling out to each other and laughing merrily. None of them reached higher than my hip. A man in a red and green Harlequin costume, impossibly thin and tall, went by a minute later, the bells on his hat jangling. He was singing in French and juggling half a dozen delicate glass balls that shone with soft colour, changing from red to green as they rose and fell hypnotically.

“Wow,” I said. “That's something you don't see every day.”

“No, you sure don't,” Amelia said breathily. “Isn't it wonderful?”

I had to admit, it sort of was.

~~00~~

I leaned over a tray of necklaces, admiring the rows of delicate carved pendants gleaming in the candlelight.

“Protection charms,” Amelia murmured at my elbow, impressed.

“Very useful, Miss,” said the proprietor from the other side of the waist-high table that served as a counter. “A thoughtful solstice gift for those dear to your heart.”

“Uh-huh.” I bit my lip. They _were_ lovely, but delicate wasn't exactly Eric's style. What did one buy for a thousand year old vampire anyway? I was stumped.

The jewellery stall was tented but quiet, its canvas walls muffling the sounds from the market around us more than canvas should. I reckoned magic was responsible for that, but whatever it was, the hush was broken when the proprietor shifted slightly.

His steps clacked noisily on the floor and I got the crazy notion he was wearing clogs.

Probably not, I thought, stifling a giggle and bending over the necklaces again. The proprietor was snappy dresser. I doubted he'd pair clogs with his velvet jacket and bowler hat, both a deep plum that coordinated with his perfectly-tied lilac silk cravat and the matching lilac handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket. He was tanned and well-groomed, with black, tightly-curled hair and a neat beard, and although he looked human, his mind was not. His thoughts were opaque, and a little swirly. Maybe he was some rare kind of shifter I hadn't met before, but it would be rude to ask.

One thing he was, though, was a determined salesman. He pointed to the necklaces with a well-manicured nail. “This one protects against illness; this one, unlucky investments; and this one, broken hearts.”

I sighed softly. Only one of those would be any use to Eric and I doubted he'd appreciated a gift that implied he needed magic to turn a profit.

Sensing my indecision, the proprietor suggested helpfully: “Maybe something smaller, Miss. What about these? Here, have a closer look.” He picked up a tray of rings and stepped around the table with them.

“Oh no, thank you,” I stammered, desperately trying not to stare at his lower half.

He wasn't wearing any pants. Maybe not anything at all below the waist, I'd whipped my eyes north before I could be sure. But that wasn't the most shocking thing, oh no. His feet were cloven-hooved, hence the clacking, and his legs were covered in thick curly fur and quite naked otherwise.

I didn't know where to look. But definitely not down. No sirree. Eyes front and centre.

Amelia, who had been examining a tray of round, polished stones the size of eggs, saw my face and came to my rescue. “Excuse me,” she called. “Do these warding stones have to be placed at the cardinal points?”

“Oh yes,” he said eagerly, scenting a sale and bustling back around the table. His jacket had tails at the back, for which I was extremely grateful. “Which stones take your fancy, madam witch?”

“Um, these green ones.” Amelia widened her eyes at me. _He's a faun! Like Mr_ _Tumnus_ _from_ _Narnia._

Oh wow. That explained the hooves and the fur, and now I recognised it, the faint smell of goat.

“The serpentine, madam. What an excellent choice!”

Money changed hands. After the things I'd seen in the last hour, it somehow didn't seem at all odd that a faun was quite happy to be paid in Euros. The dapper creature deftly wrapped and boxed Amelia's purchase, thanking her politely. She tucked it safely away in the large tote bag she'd been carrying all day. I suspected she'd put a spell on it — it never seemed to get full no matter how many souvenirs she bought.

An attractive couple came in then, ducking under the open tent flap. Both were tall, the man dark and the woman fair, and they wore simple but elegant clothes. I knew straight away that they were fairies from the luminescence of their skin, that attractive radiance all fairies had about them. The male went straight to the counter, saying something in a language I couldn't understand. His voice was like liquid honey and the faun began to bow and scrape obsequiously. The woman, however, paused at the entrance and looked me over twice, sure to do so down the whole length of her nose before she swept haughtily past us.

“Damn stuck-up fairies,” Amelia muttered, shaking her head as we exited the tent. “Sorry. They're probably distant cousins of yours or something.”

“Nothing to do with me,” I said, shrugging. “I'm a Stackhouse through and through.”

 _Not_ just _a Stackhouse,_ Amelia thought, but before I could disagree, the ground shook under my feet. And again. And again. Each tremor was accompanied by a dull thud, and Amelia craned to look over my shoulder.

“Oh my,” she gasped, her eyes widening. _That has to be a troll. What the hell else_ could _it be?_

I whipped around and gaped at the truly fearsome-looking beast bearing down on us. About eight feet tall, it filled the space between stalls, shoulders the width of a car, bulging biceps the width of … well, the same width as the logs balanced on its shoulder, as it happened. Its skin was grey-green and all it wore was a very large, very dirty pair of Lederhosen. Feet the size of small missiles slapped heavily on the cobblestones, and ponderous, swinging steps brought the hulking creature towards us with all the unstoppable momentum of a tank. A bulbous nose sat in the centre of its flat broad face, a face overhung by a thick-boned forehead and bushy eyebrows that cast its eyes deep into shadow. It was its mouth that caught and held my attention though, or rather the two blunt, yellowing tusks that curved wickedly up out of it.

Tusks that screamed it would be dangerously stupid to get in its way.

I stepped smartly backwards and dragged Amelia, who was still catching flies, out of its path. The canvas of the faun's tent pressed against my back and a hot wash of fetid breath that smelt of damp and mould hit me as the troll passed by, its bulk blocking out the night sky.

“You sure don't see that every day,” I said, staring after its broad retreating back. Cries of annoyance and indignation rose up in its wake, but the troll, if that's what it was, paid them absolutely no mind.

“Wonder where he's going with those logs?” Amelia asked wistfully, her eyes round and fixed in the direction it had gone.

In a moment of generosity I said, “Why don't we go see.”

~~00~~

It wasn't difficult to follow the troll, mainly because folks came out of the booths and stalls to yell at it, arms akimbo, or to stare after it, mouths agape. I was pleased to see I wasn't the only one taken aback and concluded trolls must be a rare sight even for supes.

The trail led to a corner of the market that smelt of hot metal and fire. Iron rang against iron and water hissed as we passed blacksmiths bent over anvils or pumping bellows that sent showers of sparks up into the dark. The troll ducked its head and entered a large, open-fronted workshop.

Amelia and I stopped at a respectable distance and looked the place over. One side was lined with shelves filled with the most beautifully carved candles and there were dipped candles of every hue hanging from the rafters drying. Wooden vats sat at the back, their rims spattered thickly with wax of all colours. A little old woman in a full skirt was bent over one, stirring the contents, wisps of her white hair escaping from a pretty green head scarf embroidered with red roses. Her face was wizened and flushed from her task, which she abandoned to greet the troll.

“Hroth, you big oaf. What took 'ee?” she called in a friendly manner, wiping her hands on an apron speckled with a rainbow of wax as she came forwards.

The troll made a series of grunting, rumbling sounds in reply. She poked and prodded him towards a workbench scattered with wood chips and shavings. There, more carefully than I expected considering his size, he put down the logs he was carrying, next to some chisels and a hatchet.

Amelia took my arm and tugged me closer as the old woman turned to the back of the workshop and called loudly, “Hans! Hans! Thy logs be 'ere!”

“Ya, ya! No need to shout, Frau Talwynn.” A pale, dark-haired man came out, a battered tankard in his hand. He drained it and wiped a dark ring of liquid from his mouth.

Not wine dark. Blood dark.

Vampire.

I stiffened and exchanged a wary glance with Amelia, but she just shrugged as if to say what did I expect. Hans the vampire set his tankard down and snagged a leather apron covered in nicks and scrapes off of a hook, absently licking a few remaining drops of blood from his lips as he tied it around his waist.

Whistling to himself, he began inspecting the logs, picking them up and turning them over. Amelia nudged me and pointed. Now we were closer, I could see the shelves behind the workbench that held examples of his work: carved logs decorated with ivy and holly. Some were carved with dancing figures, fauns, satyrs, nymphs, and other creatures I didn't recognise. Some were carved into faces that look like they were bursting out of the bark, faces that were human, faces that were not.

“Dab hand with the axe, our Hans,” said Frau Talwynn, suddenly much nearer. I hadn't seen her move. “Will 'ee be wanting a Yule log, my lovelies?

“I'd love one,” Amelia said wistfully, “but I don't think we can get it back home. We're American, you see.”

She was probably right. The logs were a little large to fit in a suitcase.

“Oh, don't worry 'bout that,” Talwynn said cheerfully. “We've ways of getting it to 'ee.”

“Nice bit of ash, this one,” said Hans, hefting a log one-handed. He swept the bench clear of debris, looked up and smiled at me. “The right sort of wood for one of the fair folk.”

Amelia turned big, pleading eyes on me. “Can we, Sook? Please? I'll pay for it.”

How could I say no?

“Okay. Um, forgive my ignorance, but what exactly is Yule?”

As Hans picked up the hatchet Talwynn explained. “It be a celebration of light at the darkest time, in the depths of mid-winter. The dying of the old year, the wheel turning, and the birth of the new. In Cornwall, where I be from, we chalk a man on the log to represent the old year and burn it. So that the sun rises again, like a phoenix from the ashes.”

Hans chuckled, his eyes on the blur of his hands. “Fitting work for a man who rose from the dead himself, Talwynn says.”

“I do,” said Talwynn, nodding and chuckling. “Just don't be getting any splinters to the chest, Hans.”

Hans stopped and laughed, head back and belly shaking. “I would be a laughing stock, no? Only an idiot could do such a thing.”

At vampire speed, he began a flurry of hacking and then chiselling, chips and curls of wood falling from the log like leaves stripped from a tree in a storm. It was something to see, that was for sure, and the face Amelia had chosen melted out of the wood under his skilful hands.

Old Father Time.

Who looked a lot like Santa to me. I would tell Jason that's who it was, should he make an appearance at my house and ask. No need to confuse him — my brother's idea of a New Year tradition was getting wasted and going home with some random woman.

“What do we do with it?” I asked Talwynn.

“'Ee burn it, of course. Once it be lit, it must burn to ashes in the hearth without going out. That will bring 'ee luck all next year. Some folk like to sit round it while it burns and tell ghost stories. Some light wishing-candles from it instead.” She waved at the candles dripping from the ceiling. “One for everyone in the house. Youngest to eldest, each lights their candle and makes a secret wish, all staying silent until the last candle is lit. No other light must be raised in the house that night. Mayhap the wish comes true if 'ee do it right.” With a mercenary glint in her eyes, she added, “There's a discount if 'ee buy more than three candles.”

Amelia gasped and turned to me.

“Don't worry,” I said, laughing. “I was going to get some anyway. They're just lovely, Frau Talwynn.”

“Thank 'ee kindly, dear,” she said, smiling with pleasure at the compliment. “Tis not often one of the fair folk is so well-mannered.”

Hans sat back and dusted off his hands.

“Oh, it's just perfect,” Amelia said gleefully, admiring the bearded face staring out of the Yule log at us.

“Would you like it scented?” Hans asked, reaching for a rack of bottles filled with amber and golden liquids. “Enchanted oils, they release their fragrance as it burns.”

Amelia settled on apple-cinnamon. While Hans applied oil to the log, I went with Talwynn to pick out candles. Four, one for Amelia, one for me, one for Jason, and one for a certain someone I was hoping would still want to celebrate with me when I got home. As Talwynn wrapped them carefully, I stared into space and sighed. Eric hadn't been best pleased about my vacation.

“ _Europe is over-rated,” he said dismissively, as if the idea was ridiculous._

“ _Is it? I wouldn't know, I've never been,” I said sarcastically. “But I'd like to. And I'm going.”_

“ _Here is better. Safer.”_

“ _I don't know how you can say that, after the month I've had.” I'd been attacked again, beaten and bruised._

 _Just a typical month for a human who interacted with vampires, werewolves and demons on a regular basis. Victor was behind this latest attack, attempting to show that Eric couldn't protect me, his damn_ asset _._

_Victor was far too interested in us, and his interference was escalating, as were his persistent demands for my services. I shuddered. The glint in his eyes last time he turned up at Fangtasia hinted that the 'services' he was after were more than just telepathy._

_Eric had been quietly furious about that, but he had to make good with the new regime and his hands were tied. So he hadn't given in to the impulse to rip Victor into tiny pieces and stomp on them._

_Well. One of us had certainly wanted to commit a bloody murder that night, but truthfully the impulse might have been mine. So much anger had flashed through the bond, I couldn't tell whose it was. Victor infuriated the heck out of us both._

“ _You should stay here,” Eric insisted, folding his arms. As if insisting had ever worked on me._

“ _Oh really,” I snapped, still feeling the anger I felt for Victor. “Who died and made you the boss of me?”_

“ _I did,” he said, his mouth twitching a little. Then the amusement faded from his eyes and his face stilled. “I cannot guarantee your safety from an ocean away.”_

_I snorted. “I've got news for you, buster. You can't guarantee my safety here.”_

“ _Because you will not listen to reason,” he said forcefully. “If you moved to Shreveport, Victor would—”_

“ _Cheese and rice, Eric! Give it a rest already!” We had been having that argument for weeks and I was heartily sick of it. “I am taking a vacation. And no-one — not you, not Victor, not Felipe, and not any other damn vampire who decides to interfere in my life because there's an R in the month — is gonna stop me!”_

 _I stomped out of his office in a_ _snit_ _, slamming the door for good measure._

And I hadn't spoken to him civilly since. Oh, he'd made several increasingly high-handed attempts to change my mind, but those all ended in shouting matches. I was so furious after the last one, during which he had the nerve to _order_ me not to leave Area 5, let alone Louisiana, that I hadn't even said goodbye properly. Instead, I left him an angry voicemail insisting I didn't want to see or speak to him until I got back. And when I did, _I'd_ call _him._

Then, to add insult to injury, once I was safely on this side of the Atlantic and still in a state of high dudgeon over the way I'd been treated, I'd pressed Amelia to conduct a certain piece of magic, a spell that would inform Eric in no uncertain terms that I was not his damn property to order about at will.

All without actually speaking to the high-handed asshole, as I was referring to Eric at the time.

But I wasn't completely heartless. I'd left him a message, a terse heads-up on his answering machine while I knew he was dead for the day. Cowardly perhaps, but it was better that way.

So Eric and I hadn't spoken since I arrived in Europe. Oh, Pam had phoned Amelia a few times, including right after said piece of magic, when she asked to speak to me in a transparent ploy to check up on me for her Maker. But Eric hadn't called me himself and I hadn't asked Pam a damn thing about him on principle. Consequently, I had no idea how Eric was or how we stood after my little stunt, but I refused to be the first one to call, certain he was the one in the wrong.

All my stubbornness was doing by this point was making me miserable, but I was an old hand at cutting my nose off to spite my face where Eric was concerned. He was probably furious with me and I was in limbo, not even sure if we were still an 'us'. Shit, what if —

Talwynn touched my arm, startling me out of my thoughts. “'Ee with us, my lovely?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

“Away with the fairies,” she said, chuckling at her joke. Then she gave me a suddenly shrewd look and said kindly, “Thinking of someone special, I shouldn't wonder. Vampires are tricky creatures to buy for, hmm?”

I blinked at her. How did she know Eric was a vampire?

She pointed off to the left. “There's a stall that way. Pink tent, can't miss it. Try there. And don't miss the Cornish Guise dancers later. My nephew is leader of the troupe, and they're a sight to be seen.”

~~00~~

The sign on the _very_ pink tent read: Athena's Emporium.

Stepping inside, we found ourselves in an Aladdin’s cave of lingerie. Skimpy creations in everything from lace and silk to leather and latex hung from crowded racks. Athena herself, a large, full-bellied woman in a striking blue dress, bustled over and welcomed us warmly. The dress was silk, cut a little low and worn a little tight, but it suited her. She had straight, almost blue-black hair, half-moon glasses and, from the white noise of her mind, a demon in the woodpile somewhere. Her teeth were certainly pointed, just like Diantha's.

And her tongue may have been forked. I didn't care to look too closely.

“I cater to all shapes and sizes,” she boasted at the end of her sales pitch. “And all _tastes.”_

She wiggled her thick dark eyebrows suggestively and I thought for one awful moment that she would ask what my tastes were. But instead she invited us to browse and left us in peace, perching herself on a high stool facing the entrance and picking up the paperback she'd been reading when we came in.

A romance, from the lurid picture on the cover.

Ugh. That awkward photo-shoot with Claude. I really didn't need to be reminded of that while I was picking out something to please a boyfriend who might not even be a boyfriend.

I needn't have worried.

Traipsing around the Emporium on Amelia's heels turned out to be more awkward than taking racy photos with a my gay fairy cousin. By the time we'd circled the whole place and investigated all its nooks and crannies, I still had no idea what to get Eric and I was sure my cheeks matched the tent, which was particularly bright shade of fuchsia.

Athena didn't just sell lingerie.

For a start, there was a row of glass-fronted cabinets, each full of odd shaped bottles. The first had contained scented massage oils. Nothing too blush-inducing there, but also nothing that caught my interest. The next was species-specific perfumes, some so potent they came with dire warnings about inciting riots. Rioting vampires sounded positively dangerous to my health, so that was out.

A third, heavily padlocked, held vials of love potions. Only short-acting ones Amelia assured me, nothing that would be against some code or other that witches had that forbade inducing permanent states of infatuation. Remembering Hallows plans for Eric, I shuddered and moved on. Even temporarily forcing someone to feel that way was against my principles. The last cabinet held aphrodisiacs and lust potions, and several supe variations on Viagra.

None of which were any use to me. Eric didn't need that kind of assistance in the slightest.

Then there was the bookcase of interspecies sex manuals. Yes, really. Amelia insisted on flicking through some and the illustrations left me wishing for a curse like Hallow's to wipe my mind. But it was the alcove of bedroom _equipment_ that really heated my cheeks. I couldn't fathom a purpose for some of them, and I didn't much want to. A few looked like implements of torture to me.

Oh, I wasn't completely naive, no telepath who grew up reading adult minds could be. I knew what folks did with handcuffs and whips and nipple-clamps. Each to their own, live and let live, and all that. I just didn't have a burning desire to know any more about it all than I had to. I definitely didn't need to hear Amelia's curious thoughts about the more unusual things on the shelves and hanging from the canvas roof.

The snippets I caught by accident pretty much guaranteed I'd never be able to look her in the eye again.

Amelia, however, was in her element. I was still empty-handed, but she'd had no trouble filling a basket with goodies for her and Tray to enjoy. No chew toys or collars with studs on for her werewolf beau, though. I managed to tease her about that despite my burning cheeks. I left her picking out a perfume tailored to werewolves and went hunting out a gift for Eric on my own, trying to look sophisticated or at the very least like I knew what I was doing.

Stopping beside some leather corsets that I'd passed three times, I fingered one cautiously and frowned. Would Eric like to see me in one or would he hate the thought of me dressed as a fangbanger as much as I did?

My face must've said it all, because the owner took pity on me and came over, a kind look on her face. “Is it someone special you're buying for?” she asked.

“Um, my boyfriend,” I mumbled, as if I was fourteen years old and speaking to my maiden aunt.

“What is he, dear?”

“He's a vamp,” Amelia said from behind my shoulder.

Just great. A witness to my humiliation, a witness with a big mouth.

“Must be old one I'll wager, with her blood line,” the demon owner said. She removed her glasses and chewed thoughtfully on one end of them. “Hmm. Let me think… Come away from those corsets, dear. Anything that makes you look that uncomfortable is not what you want to wear for a seduction. For that, you need to ooze confidence.”

Flushing even deeper, I followed her meekly past the cabinets.

She paused by one, tapping the glass with her nails. “No, not perfume. Your scent is probably more alluring to a vampire than anything I've got. Hmm.” She walked over to a chest with shallow, wide drawers and slid one out to reveal a display case of pretty pastel camisoles and underwear sets. “Are these are more your taste?”

“I guess.” I sighed, disappointed.

“Hm. You were hoping to surprise him with something more risqué?” I nodded, grateful she understood, and she smiled, which was less encouraging than it might have been given the number and sharpness of her teeth. She tapped the glass case with a very long, curved fingernail. “These are something special, a new line. Vanishing Vanities. Just wish them gone, and poof! They're on the floor. That might give your vampire a thrill.”

“Oh, I see.” Eric was all for getting me naked, so it wasn't a terrible idea. “Hm. I suppose it _would_ save a fortune in replacements…”

“Bit of a bodice-ripper, is he?” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Males! They have no idea how difficult it is to find a well-fitting brassiere. They have it far too easy with their own undergarments.”

That gave me an idea, a perfect idea for a peace offering. “Do you have something similar for guys?”

“Guys?” She frowned in confusion. “Yes, but I don't follow…”

“And can anyone vanish them, or is it just the wearer?”

“Well, my customers are mostly female and I usually tune them to the buyer. But I can—”

“Oh, the buyer will be just fine.” That fit the plan I was hatching. I couldn't wait to see his face.

“You want them tuned to you? Oh, I see! What an excellent idea! Yes, that'll be quite the surprise.” Chuckling, she opened a drawer of men's things. “What takes your fancy?”

“Those, definitely.” I tapped the glass. Tiny red briefs; I couldn't hide my smile. “And those too.” Black silk boxershorts, close enough to the ones he wore in Jackson.

“Good choices. What size is he?”

“Oh, he's a big guy,” Amelia said from behind me. Amelia who I'd forgotten all about. “Over six foot. Positively huge.”

I turned round a little quicker than she expected and caught her with her hands held out, spaced just so. “Amelia Broadway! You quit that right now.” I hissed, slapping her arm.

She collapsed into giggles, but I was plain mortified.

“You're a lucky woman,” the demon said, unabashed. She opened a storage drawer and rifled through the contents. “Here we go. Large, in the red and the black.” She took them to the register and got out a metal dish and a candle. “Now I just need some of your hair to tune the enchantment to you.”

Five minutes later and a hank of hair lighter, I had a beautifully wrapped pink parcel and a Christmas gift I just knew Eric would get a kick out of. If he was still speaking to me when I got home in a week.

I sighed heavily as we left. Another week seemed like forever.

~~00~~

A piercing squeal tore the air, followed by a cacophony of shouting.

An enormous black boar charged in our direction and it was Amelia's turn to pull me out of the way. It tore past us, grunting and bucking, its tail flapping madly. Folk scattered out of its way, dropping packages and cursing. In hot pursuit came three vertically-challenged gentlemen, of the goblin persuasion if their similarity to Mr Hob was anything to go by. In bloody aprons, they pounded full-tilt after the boar. The leader waved a meat cleaver over his head and shouted something guttural and angry.

The boar shook its head from side to side, scattering trails of saliva from its mouth. Then it threw itself abruptly sideways, its feet skittering on the cobbles as it turned on a dime. Squeezing between two stalls, it disappeared. The trio stormed after it, shouting and waving their arms.

“What the hell was that?” I asked no-one in particular.

Amelia blinked rapidly. “I have no idea.”

A matronly woman with the mental signature of a witch and a large basket on her arm butted in. “Damn gnomes playing tricks,” she grumbled good-naturedly, with a loud sniff. “Do it every year. Always let a boar out. You think the goblin butchers would learn, but they never do.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Bells jingled frantically, the sound coming from the same direction the boar had. I had no idea what to expect this time, but the woman didn't seem disturbed. On the contrary, she put her basket down on the ground at her feet and said in a satisfied tone, “Ah, here they come.”

The crowd parted and I gasped.

Reindeer, with shining red noses, walking in a sedate line. White and red patterned blankets thrown over their backs, they had riders: children, carrying leather straps sewn with bells and shaking them enthusiastically.

“Mama! Mama!” called a chubby blonde boy, leaning dangerously to the side to wave frantically in our direction. “Look at me!”

“I see you, Joseph,” the woman called back, waving too. “Sit up straight, son, and don't let go!” She watched him fondly as the reindeer paraded past, picking up their hooves and dancing a little, which made the children on their backs laugh.

“Oh,” I said softly and nudged Amelia. “The reindeer. They're shifters.”

“Yes,” the woman agreed, picking up her basket. “From Finland. They come every year. First time here?” I nodded. “Don't miss the dancing bears.”

“Where are they?” Amelia asked eagerly. She was as excited as the little boy.

“Just follow the reindeer,” she answered and held out a crumpled paper bag. “Here, try some giggling candy. It's really good this year.”

“Thank you,” I said politely. We each took a piece and she wished us well for the solstice and left to collect her son.

The candy was chewy, like toffee, but it tasted of mint and lemon. I soon found out why it was called giggling candy. Out of the blue, a bubble of laughter welled in my throat and Amelia clapped her hand over her mouth. I caught her eyes, and let out a chuckle. Soon both of us were giggling uncontrollably, leaning on each other for support.

“Wow. That was some candy.” I wiped my eyes, still laughing weakly.

“Yes,” Amelia said with a hiccough. “Great way to spread seasonal cheer.”

“If only they made giggling True Blood,” I said and collapsed into another fit of giggles. The candy wasn't to blame this time. I was picturing Eric guffawing away on the dias in Fangtasia. The fangbangers would be totally bewildered, and wouldn't it just ruin his carefully crafted big bad vampire image.

I seriously wished vampires could eat candy in that moment. Pam would so prank him with it and then glamour the vermin to forget it.

~~00~~

The dancing bears were performing in an open space at the heart of the market, where the reindeer began their parades and which also served as a food court of sorts. Stalls here sold all kinds of meat, sausages, soups, potato fritters, foaming beer in huge tankards and Gluhwein. I even saw spiced blood. Long trestle tables were jammed with shifters, demons and witches eating and drinking elbow-to-elbow. And talking, arguing, telling stories and jokes, laughing and bursting into song. Children ran between the tables playing chase, shrieking and laughing. No-one seemed to mind.

The bears were a large extended family of Russian travelling shifters who, naturally, shifted into bears, and their displays added to the festive atmosphere. We watched an incredibly athletic Cossack dance, and some fire juggling and sword throwing that had the crowd gasping. Between performances a fantastic steam organ, painted and gilded like an old-fashioned carousel, provided waltz music and the Russians offered, for a small fee, the chance to dance with one of them in bear form.

I found myself taking a spin with a huge black male, because as Amelia said, how many people could say they'd done that? His teeth and claws were a little intimidating, but I held onto his arms and the fur there was soft and woolly. His breath, smelling strongly of smoked fish, was a trifle off-putting, but he was certainly light on his feet and he didn't stand on my toes once.

And he was wearing pants, which was a blessing.

It was something else to be in the company of supes and not have to worry about more than a bear standing on my toes. Maybe, just maybe, the supernatural world didn't have to be hazardous to my health all the damn time. Maybe it could even, on occasion, live up to the wonder and excitement I'd hoped for when vampires came out of the coffin.

Amelia had taken a turn with one of the mama bears, who all wore brightly patterned skirts. She was absolutely thrilled by the experience, her eyes practically throwing sparks when she rejoined me.

“That was amazing!” she said, slipping her arm through mine. “I'm so glad we came.”

“Me too,” I said, laughing. My cheeks ached from smiling so much. I was having a wonderful time. The only thing that could improve my evening was sharing it with Eric. Amelia was a great friend and all, but I missed my honey.

We tracked down the stall that sold giggling candy. Sadly they didn't have a version for vampires, but they had talking gingerbread men (too creepy for me) and enchanted sugar cookies in every flavour under the sun. Roast beef, goulash, treacle tart, plum pudding –- you name, they had it. I just had to get some of the beer flavoured ones for Jason as a gag gift. Amelia bought six different flavours for Tray and even a couple for her father. She was really feeling the holiday spirit.

While Amelia was paying for her sugary treats, I felt a light touch on the back of my neck and turned around, assuming someone had bumped against me.

No-one was there.

It happened again, a definite tug on my scarf. I reached a hand back to feel around, wondering if the wool had caught on my coat or something. Still nothing. Another two tugs came in quick succession, and as I cussed in annoyance my scarf was whipped briskly off my neck, the fringed ends flying past my eyes too quick to catch. I whirled round to confront the thief and gasped at the sight that met my eyes.

My scarf bobbed in the air, held aloft by tiny winged creatures that glowed like fireflies. They were laughing, their voices high and silvery, like bells tinkling. All around me people were losing hats and scarves and hair ribbons, gasping and yelping in surprise and then laughing in delight as the fluttering, shining creatures made off with their woolly bounty.

Amelia came up behind me and squealed. “A tree!”

The bears and the steam organ were gone. A swarm of brawny Weres and one troll were manoeuvring a huge spruce into position. The Weres hauled on ropes, and the troll braced his broad back against the trunk, pushing with brute strength. With shouts, and creaking, and a slow, shifting sway, the spruce tree rose upright and then settled into place with a deep thud, branches shivering.

“Is that Hroth?” Amelia asked, squinting.

“Well, it's definitely a troll. I don't know if it's Hroth,” I said. Surely one troll looked much like another? “Oh! Look!”

The literally light-fingered thieves who'd stolen my scarf and all those other things were fluttering higher and converging on the tree. Where they began to land, adorning it with their stolen goods and their own glowing bodies until it twinkled all over.

“Ooh,” Amelia said, turning to me wide-eyed. “I get it. Actual _fairy_ lights.”

A Were standing nearby overheard her and laughed loudly. He had dark hair and brown, smiling eyes. “Don't let the fae hear you say that,” he said, still chortling.

Amelia sniffed. “I suppose they're above decorating trees.”

“Oh, definitely,” he said, winking at her. “Those little ladies are sprites. Rascally things they are, but no real harm to 'em.”

“Sprite lights,” I said, grinning. “Sure easier to put up than the regular ones.”

When we were teenagers, Jason's annual wrestling contest with our lights typically ended with him admitting defeat and calling me in to untangle them. The last few years I'd put them up by myself, but I was hoping I might have assistance from someone else this year. Someone who could fly.

Oh, Lord. I'd been an idiot.

I should call him. Tomorrow. Or better yet, leave him a message tonight.

“What about you?” said the Were, nodding at Amelia warmly. “No trouble for a witch like you to decorate a tree I bet.”

Amelia cocked an eyebrow at him, and that I'm-plotting-a-new-spell look that heralded trouble came over her face. “Hm, I'm sure I could design a spell to—”

“Oh, no,” I said. “After what happened with Bob, I don't think I trust you to decorate my tree.”

“Bob?” said the Were, leaning closer and smiling flirtatiously. “Did this Bob do something to upset you? He shouldn't have, pretty witch like you.”

“Oh, er…” Amelia was saved by a commotion to our right.

The Were turned to look and rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Oh, good. The Guise dancers are here.”

A swell of drumming, singing and catcalls announced the arrival of a motley procession. Once I'd registered the first few dancers were shifters I stopped reading their minds, content to gape at the spectacle along with everyone else.

The dancers were all masked or disguised, but that was the only thing they had in common. Their costumes were truly amazing. Some wore men's evening dress, all top-hats and tails, their faces painted black and white to match, and a few of them carried accordions and played a lively jig. Some were covered head to toe in a thick layer of brightly-coloured ribbons and rags that shook and rustled as they moved. Some had elaborate green masks and costumes woven so thickly with foliage they looked like walking trees. Some, beating drums, wore rough smocks and wicker animal masks shaped like the heads of bulls, asses, rabbits and deer.

Not all of the heads were wicker either: at least one shifter went past us 'wearing' his own, very real, horse's head. And red velvet mayor's robes, complete with a leather horse's collar covered in brasses as a chain of office. He got a few jeers from the locals and I wondered how much of a horse's ass that made the actual mayor.

A ripple ran through the crowd. Necks craned and arms pointed.

At the back of the precession, just coming into view, a throne rocked and swayed in the air, carried aloft on the shoulders of four brawny men. All I could see of the figure in it at first was a broad set of antlers reaching for the sky, hung with ribbons that fluttered as the throne shifted with the men's steps. As they came closer, I saw the four bearers wore head-to-toe black, the rims of their bowler hats and the front of their shirts trimmed with red ribbons and sprigs of holly. The throne was wooden and intricately carved. Delicately worked vines curled over its legs and back, wooden faces both furred and human peeking out between the leaves.

A chorus of voices cried out: “All welcome the Lord of Misrule.”

The Lord lounged in the throne, one leather-booted calf thrown over its arm and one gloved hand holding a gnarled staff topped with a jewelled and feathered animal skull, and slung carelessly across his lap like a royal sceptre. He wore a sweeping patchwork cloak that glittered with iridescent peacock feathers, mirror-fragments and beads. It was thrown open, revealing leather pants and a silk shirt, both a deep, rich brown. His face was completely hidden by a heavy mask that sprouted those antlers. Painted green with flashes of gilding, the mask was only vaguely human, fur and leaves adding to the otherness of its features. Two deeply-shadowed eye-holes did nothing to lessen that otherness and cloaked the wearer's eyes in darkness.

The procession paraded past and wound its way towards the spruce tree. A cheer rang out as they reached it and the crowd began to shift, thickening around us.

“Come on,” said the Were, catching hold of Amelia's elbow. “Let's get a good spot.”

Amelia grabbed my hand and I fought to stay with her as the Were plunged ahead. The press of bodies swelled forwards, tugging and pulling, threatening to separate us. When the press eased, we found ourselves at the front and the Were congratulated himself on getting us a great view.

The throne had been set down in pride of place at the foot of the spruce, on a small stage that had seemingly materialised out of thin air. The dancers arranged themselves on either side of it. In the crowd, children wriggled and wormed their way forwards through the forest of legs, rugs and cushions tucked under their arms. Spreading them on the ground at the very front, they sat in a rough circle, their rapt upturned faces fixed on the throne as the crowd settled and quieted.

With a lazy stretch, the Lord leaned forward and rapped his skull-topped staff sharply on the stage.

At that signal, the entertainment began. The troupe started with a song and a dance, and then there was a performance. An old play, someone remarked next to us. Father Time acted as narrator, and I found myself totally absorbed in a fantastical tale of a hero, a dragon, a fool and a healer. I laughed with the crowd at the fool's antics, booed at the dragon with them, and cheered as loud as anyone when the healer brought the hero back from the dead.

Applause bouncing off the cobbles, the players gave us an encore or three. As they took a final bow, the older children snatched up rugs and cushions, grabbed younger brothers and sisters, and melted back into the crowd. I spotted some dancers slipping in amongst the audience too. Wild fiddle music started up somewhere and the air suddenly crackled with excitement. The crowd shivered and breathed like a living creature.

The Lord, who had watched proceedings with an air of boredom so profound I'd completely forgotten about him, leapt to his feet, antlers held high and cloak swirling around his thighs. He threw up his arms, lifting his staff to the dark sky and roared: “Let the Misrule begin!”

A shout rang out behind us, and another to the right, but I couldn't see what was happening. A woman to the left yelped as one of the Guise dancers who'd snuck into the crowd appeared out of nowhere and snatched her up in his arms. He twirled her and began to waltz her, her angry complaints morphing into laughter. A large jowly man, red-faced and panting, lumbered flat-footed through the crowd, chased by a gang of youngsters throwing bags of coloured powder. A yellow one exploded on his shoulder and it was hard to tell if his belly shook with amusement or anger.

I shifted uneasily and met Amelia's wide eyes. “Folks are getting wild. Think we should get out of here?”

“Um, maybe.”

But before we could make a move the isolated acts of mischief spread outwards, like ripples from a handful of pebbles cast into a pond, joining and merging and weaving into one. The crowd around us heaved and boiled, breaking into mad chases, wild dances and loud carousing, the misrule spreading until riotous chaos ruled the entire throng.

Amelia squealed besides me and ducked a red powder bomb, clutching her bag to her and grabbing my arm. “Okay,” she yelled. “Let's go!”

Hitching the shoulder strap of my tote over my head to secure it, I looked around for a safe path through the madness. A space opened to our left and I darted that way, dragging Amelia with me. Right into the path of a line of people coming straight at us, singing arm-in-arm and dancing the can-can.

“If you can't beat 'em, join 'em,” Amelia shouted in my ear, tugging me to the side and linking arms with the man at end of the row. I went with it, letting Amelia sweep me along and hoping there would be safety in numbers. But the line broke up and before I could get my bearings the Were who'd watched the play with us snatched Amelia away, twirling and spinning her.

“Don't worry about me,” she yelled over her shoulder as hands grabbed me from behind.

“I wasn't,” I muttered. I was spun around too, waltzed by a dancer in a boar's head mask who smelt of beer and musk. Spun again, I fell into the waiting arms of a short, dumpy lady in top-hat and tails, whose black-and-white painted face contorted as she laughed and wheezed. She danced us in a drunkard's walk, barely avoiding the other revellers running, dancing and leaping around us.

I twisted in her arms, but it was hopeless. I'd lost track of Amelia completely.

A chubby man in a red and yellow jester's costume cut in while I was distracted. He grinned at me and carried me off with a lively jig, the bells on his hat jangling in my ears. I was swung into the arms of yet another dancer, my head spinning with noise and motion, and so I was passed through the merrymaking, embrace to embrace, until I was let go abruptly, dizzy and disorientated, to stagger into a pocket of open space.

The noise of the crowd fell away. Bright flecks of light played across my face, blinding me. I squinted. As the world slowed its spinning, the blur in front of me came into focus.

Antlers. A glittering cloak. A gilded mask.

The Lord of Misrule, stretching a gloved hand towards me.

Oh shit. What the hell had I gotten into now? Somehow I didn't think I was allowed to refuse him. I sincerely hoped all he wanted was a dance.

At least that was one thing I knew how to do well.

Swallowing, I stepped forwards and took his hand. Even this close, I couldn't make out his eyes, deep in the shadow of the mask. That was unsettling. So was the fact that I couldn't get a read on his mind. His grip was firm but not tight though, and he bowed politely enough, careful to keep those antlers away from my face.

My eyes thanked him, those tines looked wicked sharp.

He didn't speak or let go of my hand. With a flourish, he threw his cloak back over his shoulder, slid his free arm around my waist, and we were off.

The Lord was a graceful, responsive dance partner. I rested my free hand on his chest, focusing on the red wool of my glove to keep my mind off what was happening, but it was useless. All the potential repercussions ran through my mind in a torrent, like water roaring over a waterfall.

Was this just a dance? Or was it some archaic medieval rite? Was I his for the night?

Because that was not happening. Even if his chest and shoulders were nicely proportioned.

A second idea occurred to me. All that talk of mischief and misrule — was this some elaborate trick to humiliate me? Lord, I hoped not. Just in case it was, I concentrated on not tripping over my own feet and making a fool out of myself. I had no idea what dance we were doing, but it was lively and folk certainly got out of his way. In other circumstances, ones I understood fully for a start, I might have enjoyed this. His hand stroked my waist, almost soothingly, and I managed to quiet my fears and relax a little. Then he dipped me.

My breath caught in my throat and I had to shut my eyes as a rush of longing overwhelmed me.

_Oh, Eric. Where are you?_

Strong arms lifted me back upright. The Lord had a fluidity to his movements and dancing with him was like floating on a cloud. A minute later I realised that was more than just a metaphor. My feet were no longer in contact with the ground.

I gasped and he laughed. A deep, richly amused laugh. The first sound he'd made, and it was awful familiar.

Stiffening, I peered at his eyes and gasped again. He lowered us until my feet were safely back on the cobbles, keeping us gently swaying.

“Eric?” I breathed, a tumult of emotions expressed in that one word. Hope. Amazement. Joy.

A gloved hand went to the mask and raised it slowly, inch by inch, showing me a smirk I would know in the dark.

“It is you!”

He removed the mask completely and gave me an ironic, sweeping bow. “Hello, Sookie.”

“Oh my God!” I slapped his arm and beamed up at him, drinking in his sparkling blue eyes and messy blonde hair. I could sense his void too, now the mask was off. “I had no idea! When did you get here?”

“Last night.” Shaking his hair into place with a casual toss of his head, he swivelled at the waist and tossed the heavy mask to a waiting dancer. The cloak followed an instant later. “Thank you for the loan, Michael.”

“Thank Auntie, it was her idea. See you snagged the lass, as per bloody usual.” The dancer, a tall handsome Were who'd played the part of the fool in the play, slipped the costume on and left. Eric turned back to me. We were tucked behind the spruce tree, I realised, in a relatively quiet corner and as alone as we could be.

“But you said you couldn't get away,” I said slowly. One of the shouting matches had been about that. “What about Victor?”

His eyes became as hard as flint, his smile predatory. “Victor is no longer a problem.”

“Oh.” I swallowed a pang of guilt and looked away.

Victor had been a thorn in our sides ever since the takeover. If he was dead, finally dead, it made my life a whole lot simpler and a good deal of me leapt at that idea. But I hated that protecting me had involved bloodshed yet again and hated even more that in a small, dark corner of my heart, I was rejoicing. Okay, Victor was a son of a bitch who deserved everything he got, but I was afraid of that darkness in me, afraid it would grow the longer I was around vampires.

And being with Eric meant being around vampires.

My fears, however, were not Eric's fault and I really didn't want to start another argument when he'd just arrived. Picking a safer topic I asked, “How did you know I was here?”

 _Without the bond_ hung unspoken in the air between us like a bad smell. Shit. Not a safer topic, not at all.

“I have my sources,” he said carefully.

Sources? The Guise dancers were in on this, had to be for Eric to disguise himself as the Lord of Misrule. Michael mentioned an auntie. And Talwynn had known I was with a vampire, and her nephew ran the troupe...

“Talwynn,” I guessed. “She told me to watch the dancers.”

“She is an … acquaintance, yes.”

But how did he know I would come to the night market in the first place? Given my usual avoidance of all things supernatural it wasn't something he could have predicted. “There's more, isn't there?”

“Perhaps.” His eyes crinkled in the way they did when he was proud of me.

That witch, the one who told Amelia about the market in the first place. The gnome who let us in, I bet he was in on it too. I'd been led by the nose all night and I didn't appreciate being manipulated. I narrowed my eyes, about to give Eric what for.

His face went smooth and still.

And I stopped. Hadn't I already decided I'd been a stubborn fool where Eric was concerned?

The man had just chased me halfway round the world, something I'd been secretly longing for him to do. And that, if I was honest with myself, was what scared me shitless. It meant this thing between us was serious.

I took a deep breath, and asked the question I really wanted to ask. “Why did you come?”

“I missed you,” he said simply and my breath hitched at the warmth in his eyes.

“Oh,” I said softly. Before I could say more, he gathered me up and laid one hell of a kiss on me.

It left me breathless and my heart racing, but I was pleased to see I'd given as good as I got: Eric's fangs were down and his eyes were dark and wild. Once I'd gotten enough oxygen to my brain to do more than drown in his baby blues, I reached up and stroked his cheek.

He caught my hand and held it between us, raising his eyebrows at my glove.

I grinned at him. “What? It's winter. And they match my coat.”

“Yes. Red. My favourite,” he said, smirking. He tugged the glove off and put my hand back on his cheek, closing his eyes. “This is better.”

I leaned against him and sighed as his arm snaked around me, holding me close. My fingertips traced his jaw and I whispered, “I missed you too.”

A contented rumble filled his chest. After a moment, I stretched up to give him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. He opened his eyes and pouted as I took my hand back.

“Your face is cold,” I grumbled, snuggling against him.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “I have a fire in my room.”

“Do you, now?” I said, batting my eyelashes. “I don't know as I should be going to a stranger's room.”

“I will be the perfect gentleman,” he said, with a most ungentlemanly leer. He leaned back a little to look me up and down, and caught sight of my bag and the pink package peeking out of it. His grin widened and his voice deepened, teasing. “Someone has been to Athena's. What do we have here, Miss Stackhouse?”

He reached for the packages and I slapped his hand away. “Eric Northman, that's a Christmas present. No peeking.”

“For me?” he said, with a shit-eating grin.

Mine was wider. “Oh, yeah. It's for you alright.” Just not quite the way he was thinking.

He cocked his head at me, his eyes curious. “And will I like this gift?”

“You'll just have to wait and see.” Something cold brushed my cheek and I tilted my head back. It was snowing, soft white flakes floating down around us.

“Snow,” Eric said gleefully, picking me up and spinning me, making me yelp. When he put me down, I was giddy and giggling. “You know what this means, Sookie?”

“No, what?”

“Sledging,” he said solemnly, his eyes twinkling. “Tomorrow night. I know the perfect hill.”

“That would be … perfect.” And it really was. Everything was perfect now Eric was here. I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight. “What are you waiting for, you big lug? Take me to that fire and show me what a gentleman you are.”

And for once Eric did exactly as he was told.


	2. By Firelight

Eric swept me up in his arms, making me Scarlett to his Rhett, and launched us smoothly into the sky. A rush of cold air chilled my face and snowflakes caught in my eyelashes, melting and blurring the clouds as I blinked them away. Much sooner than I expected, my stomach lurched and we dropped to the ground.

Eric set me down and I saw we were in front of a tall house on the edge of the square. The entrance was dark and sign hung from a bracket above it, but I couldn't read it. An inn of some kind, I assumed.

“You're staying here?” I said. “That's convenient.”

“It is.”

“Is the place open?” The window to our left was shuttered and dark, but some of the upper ones were lit, glowing squares tinted amber and red by the drapes drawn across them.

“Yes. The owner is protecting his property.” Eric gestured back towards the market and the noise.

“Oh. I guess things get a little rowdy, huh?”

“Something like that.” He stepped forwards, grabbed the door-knocker, a tarnished brass ring, and rapped smartly three times. The door was solid, its wood dark with age and dotted with rough metal rivets. Old, but not as old as the vampire knocking on it I suspected.

Eric stepped back and wrapped an arm around me as a hatch halfway down the door slid open. A hairy, bulbous nose loomed out of the shadows and gave an audible sniff. In a gravelly voice, the owner of the nose demanded: “Password, vampire.”

“Baldur's Bane,” Eric replied, giving my waist a quick, reassuring squeeze.

The hatch slammed shut, bolts drew back and the door opened. A supe as short as Dr Ludwig but twice as wide treated us to a formidable scowl. He was a goblin, but he was… Well, not to put too fine a point on it, he sure hadn't missed any branches of the ugly tree on the way down. A thick scar marred his cheek, running from temple to jaw and pulling his eyelid half-closed. He looked intimidating, but I reckoned that was what you wanted in a doorman, not a pretty face.

Apparently satisfied with our appearance he grunted, “Come in, then.”

His manner wasn't particularly welcoming. I noticed Eric kept between me and the little guy as we passed him. We left him bolting the door and Eric led me over to what looked to be the front desk: a thick wooden counter, complete with an old-fashioned hand bell and a thick, dusty ledger sitting in the pool of light cast by the lantern beside it. That was the only light, the rest of the foyer was deep in shadow.

Place was warm, though. I took off my gloves and coat, tugging at the bracelet of twigs around my wrist too. It wasn't budging, so I guessed it lasted to dawn like the spell. Eric was openly admiring my figure-hugging jeans, and I may have taken peek or two at his ass in those snug leather pants in return. Sauce for the gander, same for the goose.

The diminutive doorman interrupted our mutual admiration by stomping past us to the desk, grumbling under his breath. “An old friend, she says. Never mentioned what he is. What am I supposed to do with a guest who doesn't eat? And now look! He's brought his own fast food. Bloody cheek, that is. And after I got that case of bottled blood in specially.”

Eric folded his arms and said sternly, “Tappin. Be respectful. This is my … lover.”

Lover certainly had a nicer ring to it than Happy Meal, so I appreciated the intent behind Eric's words. But not that pause.

Tappin swung round and stared at Eric, eyebrows up at his hairline. “She's not just dinner?”

Eric raised an eyebrow and said nothing, staring the goblin down. I guess he figured repeating himself was unnecessary.

While they glared at each other, I bit my lip and wondered where I stood with Eric. Lord knows, we'd been on shaky ground when I left Louisiana so I could hardly blame him for hesitating over what I was to him. And that spell I'd gotten Amelia to cast…

Hell-bent on defying Eric, I'd convinced her to break the bond. I hadn't given Eric any choice in the matter either. Oh sure, I'd left him a message, but it wasn't like he could stop me from two time zones away. In vampire terms that was probably a relationship faux pas as awful as dumping a human by text.

Not that I meant to dump Eric, far from it. I just needed to be alone in my blood to be sure of my feelings.

Now I was sure of mine, but not Eric's. I'd lost the insight the bond gave me and I was at sea. He couldn't be _too_ mad at me for breaking it, could he? He was here, that had to count for something.

Tappin finally broke their staring contest with a shrug. Looking me over with little more warmth in his eyes, he said gruffly, “No skin off my nose whatever she is. Has the lover got a name, then?”

“I expect your discretion in this,” Eric said firmly.

“Of course, vampire,” he snapped. “I didn't open an inn yesterday. This place lives and breathes on my discretion.”

Eric nodded at me.

“Sookie Stackhouse,” I said. I didn't offer my hand, recalling that contact with a goblin could be hard a girl's skin. “Pleased to meet you, Mr Tappin.”

“Well met yourself,” he grunted and leered at me. Possibly winked too. It was hard to tell, his skin was so leathery, his eyes set so deep. And that scar didn't help either. “I could rustle you up a light supper, Sookie Stackhouse, if you fancy a bite before he bites you.”

“No, thank you.” I said, smiling sweetly despite his rudeness. Kill them with kindness Gran always said. “I couldn't eat another mouthful, not after all the lovely things I ate at the market, but it's kind of you to offer.”

“Please yourself,” he said, scowling again.

Cantankerous son of a bitch, wasn't he?

He ducked under the counter, heaved himself up onto a stool and reached up to take down a key from a bank of hooks on the wall. “You'll be needing this, unless you want to stay locked in the dark all day with a corpse. Kitchen's open from daybreak. Need anything, vampire?”

“No,” Eric said, taking my hand.

~~00~~

“What's up with him?” I said, once there was a door between us and the surly Tappin. We were at the bottom of a staircase decorated with garlands of holly.

“He's a goblin. They are bad-tempered by nature.” Eric started up the stairs, still holding my hand. “He is not likely to smile until I pay the bill.”

“Oh.” I frowned, absently admiring the old-fashioned gaslights mounted on the walls and the soft glow they cast over the garlands and the faded red carpet. Assuming Eric invited me to stay with him — and I wasn't sure I could assume that — I'd have to go back to my hotel tomorrow daytime to pick up my things, which meant leaving Eric alone while he was vulnerable. And Tappin wasn't real thrilled to be hosting a vamp. That made me uncomfortable.

I asked, “Will you be safe here?”

“Yes. Talwynn invited me. Tappin will not cross her. She would have his guts for garters.”

“Oh,” I said again. His smile had an edge to it I didn't like and I suspected he meant that literally. And Talwynn had seemed so nice, not at all bloodthirsty. But I'd been wrong about supes before and it wasn't like I could read her mind.

We came to a landing. A typical hotel corridor led off to one side, lined with doors. Music and laughter came from behind one of them; someone was partying. Eric cocked his head and whatever he could hear made his mouth curl slightly. He tugged on my hand and we carried on up the stairs. The floor above was silent, the corridor empty. I stopped to glance down it, wondering where Eric's room was. Moonlight streamed through a window at the far end, bathing the dark wooden floorboards in silver. That would be sunshine streaming through the lace curtains tomorrow. Not safe for vamps. He must be bunking somewhere else.

Eric's arms wrapped around me from behind. “Mmm, cinnamon,” he purred, nuzzling the side of my neck and sniffing my hair.

“That'll be the Gluhwein,” I murmured, melting back against him. “And the sugar cookies.”

“Delicious,” he whispered in my ear.

I shivered, my eyes drifting closed as he nipped playfully at my neck. My feet left the floor and a breeze tickled my face; he was flying me somewhere. I opened my eyes to find myself facing a sturdy, unmarked door tucked in an unobtrusive alcove just off the stairwell. Reaching past me, Eric unlocked it and pushed it open. He flicked a switch and a gaslight inside sputtered to life. There was no room beyond the door, just a narrow corridor and steep stairs that led up into the dark.

“Ladies first,” he said.

I stepped inside gingerly, a gazelle invited into the lion's den.

Eric followed me, shutting the door and blocking out the light from the corridor. A bolt slid home behind me as my feet found the stairs, which were uneven and creaked under my weight. I trailed a hand on the wall for balance and felt suddenly, unaccountably shy now we were alone.

I hadn't seen Eric in weeks. Had I eaten anything with garlic tonight? Shoot, I couldn't remember. Should I excuse myself to rinse my mouth once we were in his room? No, that would be too awkward. Oh Lord, what underwear had I thrown on that morning? Plain, white and everyday, I thought. My tamest set. Goddamn it, he'd see them even if the lights were off. Dating a vampire was not for the self-conscious. Why, oh why, hadn't I'd picked the pretty blue set or the red lace today?

Heartily glad the bond was gone and Eric couldn't feel my attack of nerves, I glanced behind me, intending to blurt out something, anything, to break the silence. Eric was a few steps below me, his eyes locked on my ass.

Oh. My nerves dissolved as quickly as they'd come. “See something you like there, buddy?”

He lifted his head. His face was shadowed, but his voice was very deep when he answered. “Oh yes. Very much.”

I turned around and carried on up the stairs, putting a sway in my hips and grinning to myself. At the top, there was a landing and another door. I turned around and leaned nonchalantly against it. “That password, Baldur's Bane. What is that exactly?”

He chuckled. “Strange you should ask. Look up.”

I did. A bunch of greenery hung from the rafters above me. “Oh, mistle —”

The word was cut off as a large and horny vampire crowded onto the tiny landing, pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Thoroughly. When he finally let me up for air, Eric licked his lips and gave me a cocky grin around his fangs. “I must take a berry for the kiss. That is the tradition, yes?”

“Is it?” I said, rather breathless.

He stretched up, his silk shirt sliding against my sweater and his body rubbing against me just so while his fingers hunted amongst the pale green leaves. His closeness did nothing to slow my breathing, I can tell you.

When he brought his hand down and opened it, two pearl-white berries lay in his palm. “Oh dear. I have one too many.” He didn't sound at all sorry.

I batted my eyes. “Guess I owe you another kiss.”

He took me up on the offer. With interest.

~~00~~

All thoughts of mistletoe had blown clean out of my head. I was pressed against the door, my legs around Eric's hips, his hands on my ass. My sweater was gone, my blouse was unbuttoned, and so was Eric's shirt. The door swung open behind me, but I hardly noticed the loss of support. Eric, strong and sure, clasped me to him and carried me over the threshold as if I was light as a feather. My eyes were closed under the force of his kiss, so I didn't see the fireplace as much as smell the faint odour of woodsmoke and ash.

“Mmm,” I murmured, shivering as I pulled away from him. And not in the good way; his chest was cold. “You promised me a fire.”

He rested his forehead on mine, just for a second, the only sign he was as deeply affected as I was.

“So I did,” he said evenly. In the blink of an eye, he recovered himself, threw me over his shoulder, pulled off my shoes and tossed me onto the bed.

“Eric!” I yelled as I almost bounced back off the mattress. Damn vampire strength.

He chuckled. The room was dark, but that slight glow all vampires have for me was just enough to make out that he was looking at my chest, which was doing some bouncing of its own. I started to giggle.

Guess the tame white underwear wasn't so tame after all.

“You are cold,” he said sternly, but I could see the faint glimmer of his teeth. He was smirking. “Wrap up.”

Still snickering, I gathered the blankets around me and snuggled into them as Eric kicked off his boots and removed his shirt. That he did real slow, for my benefit, his body pale and ghostly in the faint light from the still open door. Then, just in those leather pants that hugged him like a second skin, he vamped out to the landing. The door banged shut and he was back, kneeling in front of the fireplace.

Once the kindling caught and the flickering light chased the shadows into the corners, I looked around. The room was small, with a low ceiling that sloped down to meet the far wall. There, the sole window was boarded up on the inside. The drapes had been taken down too, leaving just bare fittings.

A rushed job. The place didn't usually cater to vamps.

There was a second door that I hoped led to a fully-equipped bathroom, a sturdy wardrobe tucked in the corner, and next to it an armchair. I smiled. My coat, bag and sweater were heaped on it: Eric had fetched them from the landing. A large rug was spread over bare floorboards in front of the fireplace, which was a small, cast-iron affair. The bed wasn't huge by Eric's standards either, but it had a sturdy brass frame and the blankets were thick and soft.

Not as fancy as the place Amelia had booked, but I liked it. It was cosy.

Dragging the blankets with me, I rolled over to where I could better enjoy the view. The view of Eric's ass in those pants, that is. Every time he leaned forward to tend the blaze, the leather pulled tight over his best asset. Not a visible line in sight.

I may have sighed.

“I can feel your eyes, lover,” he said, sounding highly amused.

I stuck my tongue out at his back, but he looked round and caught me. Laughing, he shook his ass at me, then vamped across the room and swept me off the bed, blankets and all. He deposited me gently on the rug, which I was pleased to find was also thick and soft.

Eric arranged himself on his side next to me, propped up on an elbow. The firelight played across his naked chest, catching in the sparse blond hairs there. He looked down at me for a moment and then his face took on a sly look.

The blankets shifted between us.

He'd snuck a hand under them, and before I could react his fingertips grazed a ticklish spot on my side. Gasping, I jerked away.

“Eric Northman. I just got warm,” I groused, squirming towards the fire, away from him and his cold fingers.

His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Eric, don't you dare,” I warned. For all the good that did.

Laughing, he threw a leg over both mine and pinned me so he could attack in earnest. I wriggled and twisted, clutching the blankets, trying to seal them tight around me. It was useless; his hands found a way underneath, snatching at my sides. Gasping and squealing, I let go and grabbed at his wrists. All I got was empty air. He was too damn fast.

And his fingers weren't cold, I realised. They were warm.

He'd warmed his hands on the fire for me. It was a shame I was giggling too much to tell him how sweet that was. His hands were relentless, twin instruments of torture, and he didn't stop until I was breathless and begging for mercy.

“Yield to me,” he said in a deep voice, fingers still fluttering lightly over my ribs and eyes glowing.

I knew what was on his mind, because it was on mine too: the night of the orgy, that kiss on the hood of his corvette. Eric in pink Lycra _was_ pretty memorable.

This time I had no reason to resist him. Pouting, I flopped onto my back and played along.

“Fine. I yield,” I huffed, ignoring the butterflies stirring in my stomach. There was a deeper meaning behind my words, one I wasn't sure I was ready to admit existed.

His smile — his mouth cautious, but his eyes crinkling — sent those butterflies loop-de-loop.

“Good.” He leaned over to kiss away my pout. His lips were soft, drawing a sigh from mine when they left. He looked down at me, his eyes serious as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Warmer now?”

Yes,” I whispered. I couldn't quite decipher his expression.

He nodded across me, at the fire. “We have done this before.”

Oh.

“Yes,” I said again.

“We talked. Lying by the fire like this.” His hand was under the blanket again, tracing a pattern on my bare stomach.

“We did,” I whispered. My eyes fluttered shut.

“We could talk now.” His fingers trailed up, past my bra, tracing lazy circles over the tops of my breasts.

“No talking,” I said, lifting the blankets and holding them open in invitation.

His expression intent, he ducked underneath them and into my arms, where he took his time reacquainting his fingertips with my skin as he removed my clothes, piece by piece. Meanwhile, I relearnt the planes of his chest and the broad expanse of his back, and then I peeled those leather pants off him, easing them down his legs, first with my hands, then my feet.

I was right. Commando.

He rolled on top of me, his weight pressing me into the rug. His chest was warm and this time my shiver wasn't from the cold. I was hot, burning. He ran his fangs along my neck, but he didn't pierce the skin. Instead, he licked sweat from it and hummed in approval.

There were no words as we lost ourselves in each other. Only my sighs and moans; his rumbles of enjoyment.

The fever built to a pitch. Eric threw off the blankets and repositioned us, lifting me by the hips up over his thighs as he sat back on his heels, vampire strength and agility keeping us joined. I held onto his forearms, my shoulders still on the rug, my hair fanned around me and my body spread out before him like a smorgasbord of delights.

He slowed to appreciate the view and my skin burnt where his gaze trailed over it: first lingering on the action, then caressing up the soft curve of my stomach, pausing to drink in my breasts, then drifting up my neck to my face, finally finding my eyes.

His blazed with conviction. “You are beautiful, Sookie.”

I murmured a denial. If I was beautiful, Eric was a god, an Adonis. His gorgeous hair fell loose across his face and he was a picture painted in light and dark, hot and cold. The firelight gilded his left side, warming his chest, his arm, his face, even his fangs with its golden touch, casting cool velvet shadows that accentuated the tense and ripple of every muscle as he rocked us higher.

 _This is how he would look in the sun, the sun that_ _was_ _stolen from him._

My breath caught. I squeezed my eyes shut, sending a tear down my temple into my hair. Eric stilled.

“No, no,” I murmured urgently, shaking my head. “Don't stop.”

“Look at me then, lover,” he said raggedly. “Look at me and I will not.”

I did, drowning in his eyes as he took us both over the edge.

~~00~~

The porcelain sink in the bathroom was spotless. It looked old, Victorian maybe. The tap was brass, polished and gleaming, but it squeaked as I shut it off. I dried my hands slowly, staring at the claw-footed bathtub. It had one of those circular rails at one end, with a shower curtain hanging from it. I squinted at it, wondering if Eric could fit under there without ducking.

Then I sighed. I really wasn't that interested in European bathroom fittings. I was a delaying, delaying a conversation with Eric that I needed to have.

Time to quit running, Stackhouse.

The bedroom was as warm as toast. Embers still glowed red in the fireplace as I padded across the rug. Eric, sprawled on the bed, butt-naked and an arm behind his head, watched me every step of the way and I had an urge to tug down the bottom of the t-shirt he'd leant me. His eyes were heavy-lidded and languorous, like those of a well-fed big cat.

Not that he was. Well-fed, that is. He hadn't taken more than a nip or two of my blood, despite our three weeks apart. That was one of many things I was avoiding by dawdling in the bathroom.

Muscles in my hips twinged pleasantly as I eased onto the bed. We'd ended up there for round two and I was out of practice. “Bathroom's a little cramped,” I said, for something to say.

“Used to be servant's quarters,” Eric said lazily. “Always have their own stairs.”

“Oh, that's—” I stifled a yawn. It was late. Early. The tiny window in the bathroom had been greying. I'd made sure to pull the blind right down in there. “That's handy.”

The well-fed cat disappeared.

Something had given me away: something in my voice, or the uncomfortable tension in my shoulders, or the fact I hadn't lain down yet. An alert predator again, his eyes clear and focused, Eric sat up against the bank of pillows, pulled the covers up to his waist and linked his hands over them.

“You wish to talk,” he said, all business. He scrutinised my face for a second. “About Victor.”

I sighed. Bond or no bond, Eric had my number. I turned to face him, tugging the borrowed t-shirt down as far as it would go and modestly folding my legs under me. “Among other things. But yes, Victor.”

“Some things,” he said, tone carefully neutral, “you do not have to know.”

“Yes, I do,” I said firmly. “You killed him for me.”

He gave me a long level look. “Not only for you. Victor saw me as a rival, a threat. It would have come down to him or me. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” I repeated stubbornly. “But not now, so soon after the takeover. When you can't be sure of Felipe's support. That was on my account.”

“Yes. ”

“That's what I thought,” I muttered and rubbed my forehead. “Eric, you shouldn't have to—”

“What's done is done,” he interrupted. “Victor was too … interested in you.”

I snorted. Interested didn't cover the half of it.

Not long after the takeover, I'd run into Victor at Fangtasia. Caught off guard, I'd piqued more than his interest, despite the dumb blonde act I put on since then, hoping to convince him I was a barely useful asset who only heeled to Eric. (And Lord, how _that_ rankled.) Victor was shrewd enough to suspect my true value and greedy enough to want me for himself. Intent on whisking me off to New Orleans and his not-so-tender care, he set out to do whatever it took to prove Eric couldn't keep me safe.

First, he hired a bunch of low-life human scum to hang out at Merlotte's.

I thought they were just passing through at first. They made my shifts hell for a week, with their disgusting thoughts and grabbing hands. A couple waitresses up and quit, causing Sam aggravation he didn't need. Not to mention the damage to the bar when one bozo stepped over the line and manhandled me, prompting Jason and half the road crew to step up to the plate and defend my honour. There'd been one hell of a bar brawl, during which I caught the bozo thinking about how much they were getting paid to harass me and I finally worked out Victor was behind it all.

The scum skipped town, clever enough to disappear before Andy and the cops showed up. I bailed Jason's ass out of jail, because he wasn't. Had a black eye the size of a saucer too, the big dumb idiot.

Unfortunately, Eric heard about the fight before I could tell him — from Sam, even though I'd made him swear to leave Eric out of it, figuring my honey had enough on his plate with Victor scrutinising his every move. Mr High-handed took it upon himself to hire Tray as my personal guard. I was not happy when I found out. I didn't want Tray in harm's way over me and I argued a guard only made me look more valuable. Eric insisted and we had a nasty fight over it. If Victor's plan included driving a wedge between us, it had begun to work.

A week later, Victor upped his game: he hired some Weres to snatch me in the day.

That scared the crapola out of poor Amelia. She came back from running errands to find Tray sprawled on the lawn, naked and broken, a Were with a shotgun wound bleeding out beside him. Amelia, bless her heart, ignored them and followed the noise into the woods.

That would be the noise of me fighting tooth and nail to prevent the other Weres dragging me to their car. Tray and I had been ambushed on the way to the cemetery, where I was heading to pour all my woes out to Gran as I tended her grave. I'd been mad with Eric and frustrated with Tray, who refused to let me out of his sight.

It was lucky he hadn't, and that Amelia had some spell up her sleeve that knocked the remaining Weres out cold. Amelia sure saved the day, but I was black and blue, and Tray's arm had been broken in three places. That, incidentally, was why he wasn't the one escorting Amelia around Europe. He was still in plaster and under Dr Ludwig's care.

To top off that particularly shitty day, Victor had _requested_ my presence at Fangtasia that night for a trial of my telepathy. Eric, his position with the Nevada vamps far from secure, could not refuse his regent and as dumb assets came when they were called, I had no choice but to go. Neither of us wanted to give Victor the satisfaction of knowing how close his Weres came to succeeding, so that meant taking Eric's blood to heal my bruises when strengthening the bond was the last thing I wanted.

As it turned out, the 'business associate' Victor wanted me to read was a psychopath with a history of beating women, a test meant to bait me into revealing how proficient I was with my telepathy. So either I kept quiet and let a serial abuser get off scot-free, or I spoke up and damned myself.

I kept quiet but I hated it. Eric and I had a humdinger of a fight over that. And then we'd had all those ones about me taking a vacation… All in all, it had been a real shitty month.

And to top it all, I'd up and left, leaving Eric to face the music.

I flicked my wrist impatiently, shooing my guilt away. “Victor was a pain in my ass, Eric. I won't say I'll miss him because that's a damn lie. I'm glad he's gone. I just wish you hadn't had to … get your hands dirty.”

His eyes hardened. “I would do it again, Sookie. I may have to.”

“I know.” I swallowed. If I wanted Eric, this was the baggage he came with: ruthlessness, a thousand years of it. “What happened? How did you … get rid of him?”

The weight of centuries settled behind his eyes and he said quietly, “Be careful what you ask, Sookie. This is a bell you cannot unring.”

“Just tell me already,” I said wearily. There was no going back, I knew that. “I'm not running. Not anymore.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You were right. About me. I run when things get tough.” I waved vaguely towards the window. “I ran as far as another damn continent, didn't I?”

His lips twitched. “Hm. What was that first part again?”

I rolled my eyes. “You were right.”

“Ah,” he sighed, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. “Say it again.”

“Alright already,” I mumbled, punching his shoulder. “Don't be a jerk. This is serious. I have something to say to you.”

He opened his eyes, his faint smile disappearing like smoke. “Speak.”

I took a breath. Suck it up, Stackhouse. Time to pay the piper. “I owe you an apology, Eric. A huge one. I shouldn't have left like I did. I'm sorry I got so mad and broke the bond too. I should've spoken to you first. That was … unfair of me.”

“Yes. It was.” He picked up my hand, which had been plucking threads from the blanket without my permission, and engulfed it with his, taking the sting out of his next words. “You do not trust me.”

“I… I guess I was afraid you would talk me out of it.”

“I would have tried,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth lifting briefly. His thumb rubbed my knuckles. “It was unpleasant, feeling you disappear from my blood.”

“I know,” I whispered. I licked my lips. “But I had to know what I felt was real.”

His eyes searched mine. “And is it?”

“Yes,” I said, squeezing his hand. “It is.”

“Then perhaps it was for the best.” He turned my hand over in his and looked down at it, humming softly as he stroked the thin, sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist, tracing patterns there that made me shiver. “And the timing proved useful.”

“Huh?” I said inelegantly. His touch was distracting.

He stilled his fingers. “With the bond gone, I cannot be forced to track you.”

Forced. I didn't want to think too hard about exactly what it would take to force Eric to do something he didn't want to do. “You think Victor would have tried that?”

“If things had gone … differently, yes. Or Felipe himself.”

Pam. With me gone, they'd threaten her, hurt her until he did as he was told. I swallowed. “What did you tell Victor when I left?”

“That Amelia had a lead on someone who could train a telepath, and that you would be back in a week.” He chuckled. “Victor was furious, but he believed we were bonded and he could not interfere.”

“But we weren't.” I'd had Amelia break the bond in Rome, our first night there.

“Victor did not know that. I kept enough of your scent on me to fool him.”

“How?”

A flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I raided your hamper.”

“What?” That blouse that mysteriously disappeared after one of his visits … those missing panties that I'd assumed got muddled up with Amelia's laundry... Wait, that started a week before Amelia even mentioned this trip.

“What the hell, Eric?” I pulled my hand out of his and glared at him.“You knew about this trip before I did.”

“How would I know,” he said calmly, watching me closely. Almost nonchalant, but with an air of focused interest, as if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The hint of smugness in his expression made my hand itch to slap that look off his face. A second later that shoe dropped hard, giving me a come-to-Jesus that landed between my eyes and left me reeling.

Only one person knew about our plan to get out of Dodge before Amelia: her father. I should've known something was up. New Orleans is supe central; it made no sense for Copley to worry over Amelia in a backwater like Bon Temps.

“Copley Carmichael. What did you do to him?”

Eric shrugged. “Carmichael has contacts. He heard things. Rumours of the takeover, the showdown at your house. What father would not be concerned for his daughter, hearing those things.”

“Was he glamoured?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Only to forget who told him those rumours.” In response to my questioning look, he added, “Rasul.”

Eric set this whole trip up? But that made no sense. The anger, the confusion spilled out of me as words. “What the hell is going on Eric? We fought over this. You didn't want me to leave!”

“It had to look convincing. There are spies at Fangtasia.” He bared his fangs. “One fewer now. Another bartender has fallen to the Stackhouse curse.”

“Felicia? She was spying for Victor?”

“Not Victor. Oklahoma we think.” He grinned suddenly. “And Felicia disappeared the night Victor did. How strange. What _will_ Felipe think of his regent?”

“That they were in cahoots and Victor was betraying him to Oklahoma,” I said slowly. Shit. That was exactly what Felipe would think.

“Yes. If Felipe sees enemies there, he will pay less attention to us.”

A cold feeling ran down my back. This was all so … Machiavellian. Devious and twisty; Clovache had been right. And Eric had lied to me, kept me in the dark, manipulated me. I didn't know how to feel about that.

“So getting me out of the way, framing Victor — you planned all this on your lonesome?”

“Ah. Not exactly.” He looked less than pleased to admit that. “Thalia gave me the idea.”

“Thalia?” I was momentarily curious rather than angry.

“Yes. Victor was at the bar one night, doing his best to humiliate me. Thalia was irritated. She snarled something odd at one of the vermin. It was only later that I realised she meant the words for me.”

“Really?” Thalia didn't normally spare more than a few words for her human fan club, and none of them were ever nice.

“Yes. She said, 'Sheep have two ways to escape a wolf: shelter with the shepherd, or run like the wind.'” Eric chuckled. _“_ The vermin ran, of course.”

I'll bet. Thalia was one scary vampire. “So Victor is the wolf, I'm the sheep … and that makes you the shepherd?”

“Yes.” He spoke carefully, watching me as if I was about to explode. “And it was better that you ran, as you were not willing to … take shelter with me, as Thalia put it.”

I had refused to move in with him, he meant. I crossed my arms. “You mean you decided it was better. Well, hell. Thanks for consulting me about my own damn life, Eric.”

“Pam is right,” he said, each word clean and sharp with annoyance. “You are a distraction I can ill afford. It was better to send you away. You would not have gone had I asked.”

“No, I wouldn't have.”

“No. You are no coward.” He looked me in the eyes and said softly, “It was not Victor you were running from, was it?”

That sure took the wind out of my sails. I stared at him, frozen.

He waited for me to speak, but when I didn't, lost for words, he shrugged and continued. “Thalia, Pam and I came up with a plan to lure Victor into a trap. Using Felicia as bait.”

I cleared my throat, recovering myself. “Felicia agreed to that?”

“Ah. No. But Thalia is quite … persuasive.”

Oh. Yuck. “So what happened?”

“Felicia offered to betray me. That was sufficient to tempt Victor from the safety of New Orleans. They met in secret, out in the bayous. Two nights ago.”

“You were there.”

“Yes.” His eyes were cold, flat. “I granted Felicia a quick end. But not Victor. He did not die so easily.”

Was it Victor's blood that meant Eric didn't thirst for mine? Maybe he hadn't been tapping some random fangbanger for the red stuff while I was gone. I really shouldn't feel so relieved that my boyfriend had eaten someone. I stifled a hysterical giggle and took a moment to absorb the news, rubbing goosebumps from my arms as I tried not to imagine Victor's death.

“What about Felipe? Does he know yet? Will he find out it was you?”

“No. He may suspect, but I have a cast-iron alibi.”

“You do?”

“At the time of Victor's death, Anubis have footage of a tall blond who looks exactly like me exiting a coffin in their loading bay in Paris.” Eric grinned a very self-satisfied grin. “And I was seen boarding that fight in Las Vegas.”

“You were in Vegas?”

“Felipe called me there to demand I retrieve an asset that been away too long for his liking.”

“Oh,” I said softly. “Me.”

“Yes. I knew he would order me to straight to Europe. We were poised to take advantage of that.”

“You took a detour.” To kill Victor. That must've taken some planning. Ingenious planning. I was begin to think Pam had a point, maybe I had been a distraction.

“Yes. Felipe gave me a week to fetch you. But once he realises Victor is gone, he will call me back to Louisiana.” He waved at a cell phone on the nightstand. “Tomorrow night, or the night after. We should make the most of our time.”

“Oh. You sure have things all neatly sewn up.”

“I do not know how Felipe will react. If things go …” He got that look that meant he was searching for a word or a phrase. “If things go tits up as Pam calls it, you should stay here.” He reached over to the nightstand and passed me a card with a phone number scrawled on it.

“What's this?”

“An out.” He gave me a long look. “Felipe wants you in Las Vegas, working for him.”

I gasped. “I saved his life, I have his protection!”

“Yes. He will say he can protect you better there. You do not want that.”

There was a hint of a question in his tone. I replied furiously, “No, I don't! That rat bastard.”

“Indeed.” Eric paused, his face smoothing and becoming blank, emotionless. When he did that, what was coming was something bad, something I wouldn't like. My anger dropped away, pushed aside by tension and anxiety.

“Even if things go well with Felipe,” he said, voice cold, “returning to Louisiana will mean accepting my protection, Sookie. Which you seem disinclined to do. If you prefer, you may stay here. Start over.”

“What?” I said softly. Oh, I'd heard him just fine, but my brain couldn't hang any sort of sense on his words.

He tapped the card I was still clutching. “Talwynn. She will help you. She has contacts in the supernatural world.”

“I… Eric, I'm American. I can't stay here.”

He nodded as if he'd expected that, and I guess he had, because he went right on, in that same cold tone. “Negotiate with another state, then. Mississippi or Texas might give you protection in exchange for your skills. Cataliades indicated he was willing to act for you.”

“Unless they re-drew the state lines while I've been gone, Bon Temps is still in Louisiana. That's my home. I can't just…” I shook my head, questions buzzing in my ears like bees. The creeping sense of disappointment in my chest rapidly became stinging hurt, and that came out in my voice when I asked: “Is this your way of telling me I'm more trouble than I'm worth?”

He blinked at me twice, which was the vamp equivalent of stunned silence. Then he threw his head back and laughed for a solid three minutes, while I grew steadily madder by the second.

Finally I snapped, “Eric Northman! Just what in hell is so damn funny!”

“Silly woman,” he said, still chuckling. His eyes were sparkling. “I like trouble. And you are exactly my kind.”

“I am?”

“Yes.” He stroked my cheek. “You are. But perhaps I am not yours and that is why you hesitate to … accept my protection. I was trying to give you what you seemed to want most. A choice.”

“Oh.” Well, colour me surprised. It sounded awfully like Eric was as uncertain of me as I was of him. Some of the hurt drained out of me, and I shuffled up the bed to lean against the pillows. As my body relaxed, my mind sharpened.

“Alright. If I'm gonna have a choice, let's go through my options.” I checked them off on my fingers. “Start a new life here. Negotiate with Texas or Mississippi. Or go back to Louisiana under your protection.”

“If Felipe takes things well and it is safe,” Eric cautioned. He had leaned back on the pillows too, looking relaxed but alert.

I bit my lip, thinking. Was there anything else I could do?

Maybe call Niall. I hadn't thought of that. No, I hardly knew him, and given what he'd told me I wasn't comfortable asking him for help. And I remembered the speed with which Eric had destroyed my cell phone the night of the takeover — that told me adding fairies to an already volatile vamp situation was a real bad idea.

“So if I come back under your protection, what exactly does that entail?” I pulled a face. “Would I have to move in with you?”

Eric clasped his hands behind his head and I tried not to stare at the muscles that jumped in his chest. “It may not come to that, now Victor is gone. It will depend how pissed Felipe is. At the bare minimum, you would have to take my blood again. Enough to convince Felipe and his spies that we are still bonded.”

“Why? Was the bond that important?”

“Yes, Sookie, it was.” He frowned at the ceiling. “I should have spoken of this, I forget how little you know. The bond meant no other vampire could lay claim to you, not even a king. Felipe could not relocate you permanently to Las Vegas without my agreement.”

“Yes, you should've told me that.” I would have thought twice about breaking the damn thing if I'd known that Felipe had set his sights on me and it was the only thing holding him at bay. “What if he works out it's gone?”

Those muscles in his chest tensed slightly, the only sign that he wasn't as relaxed as he appeared. He said evenly, “Then we would have to bond again.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, wondering what that twitch meant. Did he hate the whole idea? Was he afraid I might refuse? Re-bonding didn't thrill me, but neither did it fill me with horror. “We can do that, I guess. Amelia said the spell she cast wouldn't stop another bond forming.”

He raised an eyebrow and I flushed. “I, er, checked that before we broke it.”

“Did you.” That was all Eric said, but those muscles relaxed. “For now, taking my blood should suffice. If you wish to keep the option to return open, you should to do that before I leave.”

“I wouldn't be coming back with you?”

“No. That would not be wise. Finish your vacation, take the time be sure of your decision. I will tell Felipe that I was held up in Paris and did not reach Cologne in time to catch you.”

“What if someone saw us tonight?”

“Few saw me without a mask, and there are not many vampires here.”

I reckoned Talwynn's friend with the axe, Hans, could be trusted if she was on our side. “What about Tappin?”

“He will not talk.” He had a glint in his eye that promised bad things for Tappin if he was wrong about that.

“Okay. Let's make sure I've got this straight. If I take you up on your protection … I guess you getting use of my telepathy is a given.” I wait for him to nod. “I take your blood regularly. If that's not enough, we make another bond. And if Felipe is real pissed I move in with you.” I winced internally; I'd have to quit Merlotte's if it came to that. “Will that be enough if things go pear-shaped? Is there anything else?”

“There is one other thing we could do,” he said slowly, “but you will not like it.”

I tensed up again, I couldn't help it. I dreaded the answer to my next question. “What is it? Would you have to turn me?”

“No. Something else. A last resort. We will leave that for now.”

I relaxed again, letting out a breath I was sure Eric noticed even though he didn't move a hair. “Alright. Well, it doesn't sound too bad.”

Except for moving in, and re-bonding, and all of it pushing our relationship faster than I was quite ready for. A heavy sigh welled out of me and it triggered one of those wide, wide yawns you can't stop for love nor money. All I could do cover my mouth.

“Think it over,” Eric said. He scooted down the bed, laid flat and opened his arms, as if this was something we'd done a thousand times. “Dawn is coming. You should sleep.”

“Here?” I squeaked, surprised. I'd been to Eric's house twice, but both times I had to be back in Bon Temps the next morning so I'd never spent the day with him.

“Where else?” he said, amused. “The floor is hard.”

“Smart ass,” I huffed and took a second to fluff the pillows to hide how touched I was that he trusted me enough for this before I wriggled down beside him. He pulled the blankets over us, wrapped an arm loosely around me, and sniffed at my hair.

“Mmm, cinnamon.” His words were slurring. “Sleep well, lover.”

I relaxed against him, yawning. In no time, we were both out like the dead.

~~00~~


	3. Give as Good as You Get

The stairwell was deserted when I snuck out, like I knew it would be thanks to my telepathy. I'd picked a quiet moment because I didn't want to attract attention to Eric's resting place. Or my walk of shame.

Oh Lord, what would Gran say— Not a damn thing, I thought grimly, snuffing that line of thought.

As it happened, Gran had been living in the proverbial glasshouse all along, given what Niall had told me about her and Fintan. Maybe that was why she so rarely cast stones at Jason for his womanising.

Locking the door, I slipped the key into the pocket of yesterday's jeans and decided I would do as Gran did, not as she said: I'd act like a lady even if I didn't always behave like one. Drawing on that Stackhouse strength, I straightened up and, head held high, took the stairs.

So what if I was in yesterday's clothes? At least I'd showered.

In a hurry, though. It was afternoon by the time I'd woken up and my phone was as dead as the vampire besides me. Amelia must be frantic. Eric had a way of taking up all my attention, and I hadn't given a thought to calling her last night. I was praying Tappin would let me do that from the desk.

If this place even had a phone, it was a little last century. Maybe I should just hightail it back to our hotel. I had to fetch my things anyway.

The smell of cooking greeted me as I exited the stairwell and I groaned. Eric's room hadn't been so charming and cosy today: it had no kettle, no coffee and not a speck of food. My stomach rumbling, I ignored temptation and turned towards the entrance. The shutters were open and afternoon sun streamed in through a large window, flooding a lobby area I'd missed in the dark last night and spilling over a group of overstuffed chairs gathered around a fireplace.

Amelia was curled up in one of them, fast asleep.

My suitcase was by the side of her chair, too. I sagged with relief; I'd been saved a three block walk on an empty stomach.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” I said, gently shaking her shoulder. “You waitin' on me?”

“Hmm,” she mumbled, rubbing her face and blinking awake. “Sookie!”

She jumped up and hugged me tight. As she pulled back, her thoughts washed over me. _She's alright! Tired but … Yeah, that tension in her is gone. She had a good night. Good for her, about time she got over tall and blond. Wonder who the mystery guy is._

I was about to set her straight on who I'd spent the night with, but I stopped. The fewer people who knew Eric was here the better and Amelia… Well, let's just say thoughts weren't the only things that she spilled easier than most.

We began to apologise simultaneously and stuttered to a halt. “You first,” she said.

“I'm sorry I disappeared on you last night. Did you get back alright?”

“Oh, yes. Jerry saw me back to the hotel. So what happened to you? Jerry said—”

I saw Jerry in her thoughts: the Were we'd met at the market, the one who'd been flirting with her. I was pretty sure he was a plant, meant to distract Amelia while Eric unveiled himself and whisked me away for the night.

“— you were dancing with the Lord of Misrule, and then someone else said you left with one of the Guise dancers. So I figured you were fine, but I should've checked before I left. I'm sorry,” she said sheepishly. “Anything could have happened. I didn't get your text until I woke up this morning.”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” I said, giving her a tight, uncomfortable smile. I hadn't texted her, who had?

Eric. While I was in the bathroom. I'd left my phone in my jeans.

“I brought your case over, like you asked,” Amelia was saying. “The goblin said he'd get it to you, but I wanted to lay eyes on you, so I hung around.” She yawned. “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“Yesterday was a long day,” I said diplomatically. Far more diplomatically than the choice words I was planning to give Eric. Talk about high-handed, relocating me to his room. Where did he get off assuming he could snap his fingers and I'd just run out on Amelia?

Even if I'd planned to do exactly that, a lady liked to be asked.

“Here.” Amelia pushed my suitcase at me. “I think I got everything packed.”

“Thanks.” I paused, not sure what more to say. As usual, Mr High-handed hadn't shared the finer details of his plan with me and I was at a loss. Should I offer to have lunch with her? Was I meant to tell her about Eric? How else would I explain staying here for the next few nights?

Amelia took my hesitation for embarrassment over my supposed new beau and grinned at me. “The flight to London isn't until Monday. Stay here until then if you want. Have some fun. I'll be fine. Jerry offered to show me around Cologne.”

“Did he? Tray won't like that,” I said a little more sharply than I meant to, put out by what sort of fun she was imagining I'd be having with a stranger.

“Jerry and his sister, Sookie,” she said, cheerfully ignoring me. “I won't be getting up to anything Tray wouldn't like. Not like you, you lucky thing. _” While the big bad vamp is away, the telepath gets to play._ Her grin stretched even wider.

I rolled my eyes at her. “It's not like that, Amelia.”

“Uh-huh. 'Course it's not.” She looked pointedly at my slightly rumpled clothes. “Did you really dance with the Lord?”

She was curious, very curious. I'd better to give her something, or she'd only get worse. “Yes,” I said, sighing. “I danced with the Lord.”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “You lucky girl. Those leather pants fit him like a glove.”

“Amelia!”

She held up her hands, laughing. “Alright, alright. I'll leave you be. Tell me all the juicy details later.”

“When have I ever told you those? I'm not that sort of girl. Thanks for my things, Broadway, now skedaddle. I haven't had my coffee yet.”

“Oh dear,” she said, pulling a mock-scared face and then laughing. “You'd better get a caffeine fix before the new guy realises you're a monster without it. I have to run anyway. I'm meeting Jerry in an hour.”

~~00~~

I was ravenous and Amelia was right, if I didn't get some coffee soon someone was gonna regret it. The smell of food led me to a dining room. A few folks were scattered about the long wooden tables eating lunch, a mix of shifter and human. The dancers from last night I reckoned, but it was hard to recognise them without their costumes. Guess that was the point of all those masks, no comeback for the mischief of Misrule.

There was one mind that was neither human nor shifter: Talwynn's.

She was sitting alone, away from the others, by a steaming soup tureen and a plate piled with bread rolls. She smiled at me and patted the bench beside her. As I made my way over, she stood up to ladle soup into a bowl. Her movements were those of a younger woman, swift and sure, at odds with her lined face and white hair. She was wearing slacks and a plain sweater and her thoughts were opaque to me.

“Here you are,” she said, handing me the bowl as I took a seat. “Tappin makes a mean chicken soup. An odd thing for breakfast, but it'll make a passable brunch.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully, helping myself to a roll. The soup was thick and hearty, and smelt lovely. I dipped a hunk of bread in it. “Is there any coffee?”

She called over to some of the others and a younger girl jumped up, disappearing through a door into the kitchen. I gave Talwynn a second heartfelt thank you around a mouthful of bread. The soup was delicious.

Talwynn chuckled. “Hungry are we?”

I covered my mouth and swallowed. “Excuse my manners, ma'am. I'm hungrier than a tic on a teddy bear.”

She laughed, warm amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “I see why Eric is taken with you. He likes a joke.” She watched me chow down, her face shifting to concern. “You look tired, girl. I imagine he's a handful.”

“Oh, he is,” I muttered, thinking about how he'd texted Amelia without telling me, and how he'd arranged this trip behind my back. I needed to do something about that. I just didn't know what yet.

Talwynn sipped at a cup of tea and waited patiently while I devoured three buttered rolls, two bowls of soup and the biggest mug of coffee a gal could wish for. Once I felt human again, I wiped my mouth on a napkin and asked, “Have you known Eric long?”

“A fair time.” She squinted, the skin around her eyes folding along well-worn laughter lines. “Two... no, three centuries now.”

I blinked at her. She sure wasn't as human as she looked on the outside, not unless there was something very special about the water where she came from, Elixir of Youth special.

Most of the other diners had gone. “What are you?” I asked cautiously. “If you don't mind me asking, that is.”

“Cornish,” she said, winking, “and as old as the hills.”

“Uh-huh.” I finally pinpointed what was different about her. Her accent had vanished. “You don't sounded as Cornish today.”

She smiled. “A bit of colour for the tourists, my dear. I've spoken many tongues over the years.”

“I'm sure.” I sat back and looked at her. “Eric said you'd help me start over.”

“I will.” She examined me just as closely as I was examining her, her eyes still warm but sharper, more penetrating. “But you don't want that.”

“No.” I looked down at my mug, tracing the pattern on it with a finger. “Why did Eric pick you?”

“Because of who is interested in you, I imagine.”

I looked up. “Vamps.”

“Yes. I have some standing with the dead. I can to free you from them or negotiate you a place in their world. Whichever you wish. The same for the fae.”

“Niall and Claudine?” I asked, startled. “But they're … family.”

“Family are often the hardest to shake.”

Claudine had saved my life often enough that I was about as sure as I could be that she wished me no ill. Niall I was less sure of. “Eric thinks I might want to be free of them?” I said slowly, trying out the idea.

“Perhaps. Whatever you wish. Those were Eric's instructions.” She treated me to another penetrating look. Her face cleared and she nodded to herself. “He said you were skittish, but you are not that. Can you keep a secret?”

“I can.”

“Good. I was not to tell you that I have a half dozen passports with your picture in them, or that Eric gave me a sizeable pot of money to hold for you.”

“He what? How much money?”

“Enough to start over half a dozen times.”

“But… why would he do that?”

“Why, indeed.” She got to her feet. “It is a rare thing to be given the chance to escape your mistakes, Sookie Stackhouse. Even rarer to be given that freedom by a vampire like Eric.”

She nodded goodbye and left.

I stared after her, confused. Freedom was the last thing I expected from Eric too. There were times when I'd have given my right arm to be free from the vamps. All of them, Eric included. Now I was being handed it on a plate, all I could do was shake my head in amazement and whisper: “Whatever I wish.”

~~00~~

Twice I'd been present when a vampire rose. Once when Bill clawed his way out of a grave, covered in mud, in a frenzy so intense I feared for my life. Once when Jake Purifoy, rabid and feral, rose for the first time and attacked first Amelia and then me. Neither was an experience I particularly wished to repeat, but here I was, sitting on Eric's bed, voluntarily keeping an inanimate vampire company and waiting on the sunset.

I was fairly confident that Eric would rise in control, as he'd done when he stayed in the cubbyhole, memoryless and under Hallow's curse. Still, waking up to a completely dark room earlier, in bed with a stone-cold immobile body that was for all practical purposes a corpse, had been sufficiently eerie to unsettle me and I had the lights on. Just in case.

Besides, this could be my only opportunity to witness the return of Eric's … life-force, animating spirit, consciousness, or whatever the hell the proper term was. I'd never been present at the precise moment he rose and I was mighty curious. In the end, there wasn't much to it.

His fingers curled. His eyes opened. He lifted his head and looked right at me, not a fang in sight. “Why are you over there?”

His voice wasn't hoarse or frogged with sleep like a human's might be, but it was a little petulant. Smiling, I edged closer. “Hi there.”

He rolled towards me and those long arms snagged mine, tugging me up the bed in a surprisingly gently grip until I was lying on my side facing him, our noses level.

“Better,” he said, his eyes clear and warm, his lips curving into a smile that answered mine.

Now vamps never suffered from evening breath, so I had no reason to hold back. I leaned forward real slow, teasing his cold lips with my warm breath until they parted and the tip of his tongue flicked out towards me. I pulled back. Then teased him with my breath again, and again, until he growled impatiently and I gave in and kissed him.

The blankets between us disappeared. An arm and a leg wrapped around me, pulling me flush with his body. His very naked body. A contented rumble vibrated in his chest and he began removing my clothes, grumbling quietly about obstructions. There weren't any obstructions in my way so I took full advantage of that, enjoying the taste of his skin and feel of it under my hands, lavishing attention on as large an area of him as I could. Hissing with pleasure, he tugged urgently at my jeans. Soon the field of play was level and I was as naked as a jaybird. I let his tongue and his fingers romance me until his hand headed south of the equator.

“Eric,” I whispered into his hair.

He was nibbling and nuzzling his way along my shoulder and he hummed questioningly against my collarbone.

I shivered. “Your blood. I should take it.”

That got his attention. He raised his head and blinked at me, his pupils wide and dark. Being drunk from really flicked his bic and I figured he wouldn't refuse, but it was a long second before he asked in a deep voice: “Now?”

“Uh-huh,” I gasped. His hand was still moving.

His fangs lengthened and a quiver ran across his chest, as fast as the beat of a hummingbird's wing. With a rush of movement, I found myself on my side with Eric behind me, his thigh nudging my legs apart.

“Like this,” he said, his voice ragged.

I moaned, lifting my leg to signal my whole-hearted consent, my back arching to give him a better angle. He adjusted our positions until we fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. He began to thrust, his arm reaching around me, his hand teasing and dancing in all the right places, his mouth pressing hungrily on my shoulder, kissing and sucking, the scrape of his fangs raising goosebumps down my arm. I was panting when his hand withdrew.

It disappeared behind me. A crunch and his wrist, torn and oozing, reappeared at my mouth. Wrapping a steadying hand around his forearm, I held off long enough to gasp, “Bite me.”

“Sookie.” Laced with warning, longing.

“Do it.” Breathless, demanding.

He groaned, his hips moving faster as I put my mouth to his wrist and drank. His blood, cool and sluggish and achingly familiar, slipped down my throat and he shuddered against my back, his fangs sliding into the flesh of my shoulder with a pinch. His tongue worked against the bite, at once soothing and insistent, coaxing the blood forth. I heard him swallow as white light flickered at the edges of my vision, my senses jumbling and pulsing as I dissolved into bliss.

Afterwards Eric sealed the bite on my shoulder with lazy swipes of his tongue. I licked his wrist clean, cradling his arm against my chest. We lay quiet for a time, in a tangle of limbs, his draped over mine, mine wrapped in his. His fingers played in my hair, slowly coiling and uncoiling it.

I stared at the wall ahead of me and, careful to keep my feelings calm and steady, I asked, “Can you feel me?”

“Yes.” His voice was unreadable.

I sat up. He let me go, his leg sliding off mine, my hair slipping from his fingers. I turned to face him quickly enough to catch his relaxed expression before it smoothed away. The blank one that replaced it was at odds with his tousled hair.

His gorgeously tousled hair. I almost gave up there and then, but I gritted my teeth and began my planned attack. My emotions were about to give the poor guy whiplash, but playing dirty was the only way I could be sure of holding my own with Eric. He was just too damn overwhelming.

He said guardedly, “You are angry.”

“Yes. I am.” I was fuelling it, deliberately stoking the anger in my blood. “You texted Amelia. With my phone.”

He sat up slowly, his eyes flicking over my face. “I did.”

“And you didn't tell me.” Force-feeding Eric my feelings, using his blood against him, was strangely therapeutic. My voice was as steady as his, despite the fire burning in my gut. “You didn't want to start a fight last night. I get that. The talk we had was important, I get that too. But do you understand why I'm mad?”

He moved to speak, but I shook my head.

“I'm not finished. You keep doing this, Eric. You packed me off Europe without telling me a damn thing too. You make decisions for me, manipulate me into doing what you want, and the worst of it is you don't even think you're doing anything wrong. But there's no way in hell you'd put up with someone doing that to you!”

I wasn't calm anymore. I slapped the bed between us, hard. It was that or slap the frozen mask off Eric's face. He didn't so much as flinch, which only made me even madder. I willed all my fury and hurt into my blood, into him.

“It makes me furious, Eric. I didn't know anything about it when I saw Amelia. Do you know how stupid that made me feel? What if I'd said the wrong thing? I bet you didn't even think of that.”

“You can read her mind,” he said smoothly. “I trust you to think on your feet. You can handle the witch.”

That smoothness, that was meant to deflect me. “Flattery is not going to get you off the hook, buster. I'm sick of you taking things out of my hands. Maybe I can just about accept it, once in a blue moon, for my safety. But not for something as ridiculous as this. Telling Amelia to bring my suitcase over here — that wasn't even important! Why the hell didn't you just tell me?”

A crease appeared between his eyebrows.

Uncertainty didn't sit well on him. Sympathy flickered in my heart, but I squashed it and counted to ten, digging deep to summon the calm, steely determination I needed.

That crease deepened to a frown. It seemed my rapid mood swings were confusing him. Good.

“Explain,” I ordered. Imperiously, just the way he said it to his underlings.

He stiffened at the implied insult and for a moment I thought he might not answer. But he did, speaking carefully. “Your phone beeped. It was almost out of charge.”

“That might explain why you took it upon yourself to text Amelia.” My voice was dangerously calm. “But not why you didn't tell me about it afterwards.”

“We had other things to discuss,” he said stiffly. “The sun—”

I called bullshit with a pointed look. Eric could tell to the second when dawn was coming. Once he looked sufficiently uncomfortable I prompted, “Well?”

“You were tired. You needed sleep.” He eyed me, and when he saw I still wasn't impressed he shook his head. “You are a hard-hearted woman, Sookie Stackhouse.”

“The truth, Eric.” I wasn't cutting him an inch of slack. If we were ever going to work, I had to draw a line now.

A storm of resentment brewed behind his eyes and he spoke in clipped tones. “I wanted you to beside me for the day. I wanted you here when I rose.”

“So you did what you could to arrange it and damn the consequences,” I said bitterly, painfully aware that his words would be almost romantic if I hadn't had to drag them out of him.

“Yes. Damn the consequences,” he snapped. He dragged a hand through his hair and raised his voice. “This might be the last time we are together and I did not want you to leave!”

I didn't know what infuriated me more, that he'd thought I'd walk out over something so trivial or that I had to force him to admit his feelings. Temper rising, I said hotly, “Is it so hard to admit that?”

He glared at me.

“I guess it is.” My blood boiled and I couldn't stay still. I got off the bed.

His hand, loose on the sheets, twitched towards me.

I saw how much it cost him to stay put, and part of me softened, but I had to drive my point home. I paced, gesturing sharply. “No more making decisions for me. Even little ones. Keep doing that and soon I won't trust you at all.”

“I apologise,” he said, stiff as a board. “I should have told you about the witch.”

“Damn right you should have, but sorry doesn't cut it. We should be a team, Eric. Equals, partners. We can't be that if you keep me in the dark all the time.”

His eyes flashed. “Were we a team when you broke the bond, Sookie?”

I turned to face him, hands on my hips. “No, we weren't. But you know why I did that, and I won't do it again. Can you say the same?”

His jaw worked a time or two, and then he went still for a long moment before he spoke. “I will endeavour to share more with you. But only if there is time, and if it is safe to do so.”

“Good.” I blew out a breath, letting go of most of my anger with it. “I'm going to get dressed. Then you're going to make this up to me by taking me out.”

A startled look crossed his face and I turned away to hide my smile.

I was going to hell for enjoying manipulating him so much, but it felt great to turn the tables on him. Eric had blown hot and cold for too long and his behaviour had been as confusing as all get-out at times. I figured a dose of his own medicine would keep him from getting too big for his britches.

Lord knew, this thing between us threw me off balance often enough and I felt a lot better knowing I wasn't alone in that.

~~00~~

My stomach lurched and I yelped as we briefly parted company with the ground.

The sledge landed with a thump and a hiss. Eric laughed, his arms tightening around me as he leaned to the side, steering us away from the trees and executing a swishing, lazy curve across the flat apron at the base of the hill. The metal runners threw up a cloud of powder as they cut into pristine snow. We bumped over an area criss-crossed with ruts and tracks, the wooden sledge creaking as we slowed.

“Again?” Eric asked.

“Again!” I was already turning in his arms, my cheeks hurting from the cold and the grin I'd been wearing for the last hour. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I clung tight as he rose gracefully to his feet. He gripped me with one arm, snagged the sledge with the other and I squealed as he shot us into the air.

I squealed again when he swooped low over the tree tops, teasing me. I spotted a line of straggling figures on the trail below us — other supes laboriously dragging their sledges back up the hill. Eric, eyes twinkling, dipped down and swept our sledge against the branches, scattering falls of powdered snow that floated down over their heads.

A bunch of Were teenagers looked up and catcalled cheerfully at us. A chubby half-demon, pulling his equally chubby sons behind him on a sledge, shook his fist and yelled something decidedly less pleasant. We'd been queue-jumping all night and the half-demon had been a grumpy old fart about it.

His rudeness only spurred Eric on. He circled back and knocked a whole branch of snow over the bad-tempered fool.

“That should cool you down,” Eric called as I muffled my giggles against his shoulder.

“You are so bad!” I said as we left the spluttering half-demon behind.

“And you like that about me.” Grinning, he sped up and the trees below us blurred into streaks.

We were east of Cologne, where the forest was thick enough to hide us from human eyes. The forest and a few judicious spells. Lights flickered ahead on the hilltop. Eric slowed to land and the orange blobs resolved into a line of burning torches jammed into the snow to mark the start of the run. We landed at the far end of the torches, where the huge troll manning the hill wouldn't spot us. Grabbing my hand and dragging the sledge behind him, Eric swaggered towards the knot of supes waiting their turn ahead of us.

Only four of them. We wouldn't have to wait long. Two witches I'd seen before were chatting quietly while a half-demon girl coaxed her nervous boyfriend onto a sledge. The girl, who had a much better sense of style than Diantha, sat behind him, cooing reassuringly in his ear as the troll leaned down and gave them a mighty push. The boyfriend shrieked as the sledge took off down the slope.

“First timers,” one of the witches murmured, shaking her head at her friend, who rolled his eyes. They had a sledge each and they were racing, old hands at this run.

Once the troll had sent the witches on their way, it turned to us and frowned, its eyes disappearing beneath a ferocious pair of bushy eyebrows. “You again?” it grunted suspiciously, puffing out a cloud of foul breath.

Trying not to wrinkle my nose at the stench, I smiled sweetly up at it. “Yep. This sure is fun.”

It stared at me for a moment, then grunted unintelligibly, waving us forward with one heavy arm. Eric was right, the troll wasn't bright enough to work out we were jumping line.

Eric sat on the wooden sledge, motioning for me to sit between his legs. It was a snug fit and I wiggled to get comfortable. “Sookie,” he groaned softly in my ear. “You are playing with fire.”

“Sorry,” I said in the same innocent tone I'd used on the troll, grinning to myself. I hadn't so much as kissed Eric since we left his room, but sledging was not a no-contact sport and I was enjoying frustrating him no end. Call it punishment for his high-handedness, call it extended foreplay. It was win-win for me.

“Ready?” rumbled the troll behind us.

Eric gave him a nod and my stomach hit my ribs we lurched forwards. The top of the run was steep, the snow so slick and compacted that we fairly flew over it. The wind tore at my breath and whistled past my ears. Eric was laughing, an infectious carefree sound far younger than his years. An answering joy bubbled in me, but I could only gasp. Some of us needed all our air to breathe.

We'd made over a dozen runs and I was getting bolder each time, much to Eric's delight. I trusted his speed and strength to keep my fragile human body in one piece, and the fact that he could fly helped too. So I wasn't too worried to see a rock coming up until I realised we were heading straight for it. I yelled a warning and grabbed his thighs when he didn't react.

“Oh yes,” he said with a leer in his voice. “Hold on as tight as you want.”

“Eric! The rock!” I didn't dare let go of him, my gloved fingers digging into his jeans.

“Yes, like that,” he teased, pressing me back against him. His thigh muscles bunched and relaxed under my hands and he steered us around the rock at the last moment. A deep chuckle rang in my ear.

“You jerk!” I slapped his thigh, but I wasn't really mad. “You did that on purpose!”

“Play with fire, expect to get burnt.” We were picking up speed, approaching to an area where mounds of snow had been smoothed into slopes and jumps. “Are we jumping this time?” he called over the rushing air.

I nodded frantically.

He sent us over a small jump and we lifted, airborne for a moment. I whooped with delight as weightlessness shifted my innards and the thrill spiked my veins with adrenaline. Eric steered us over to another one and I whooped again, long and loud, counting five seconds in the air.

“More?” he yelled.

“Yes!”

He aimed us at the last and biggest jump, one we hadn't tried yet. I barely had time to yelp and brace myself before we hit it. The sledge rattled. I shifted against Eric, my stomach jolted, and then we were airborne.

Something was wrong. The sledge was turning, a slow sideways slide that accelerated into a tailspin. As my ass and the wooden slats parted company, the whoop caught in my throat and then died completely as I flew out of Eric's arms, flailing and spinning. It happened so fast I didn't have time to yell or tense. For the longest moment of my life I was alone in free-fall, white snow and dark trees whirling around me.

A splintering crack echoed in my ears and a band of steel wrapped around my ribs, jerking me sideways.

I tumbled headlong into a bank of loose snow, coming to rest with my back against something solid. Stunned, I lay there dizzy and choking, blinded by snow. Icy powder trickled into the gaps in my clothing, finding its way to the back of my neck, my wrists, my ankles. Eric. The trees. What if…?

Frantically brushing snow from my eyes and spluttering to clearing my mouth and nose, I forced myself up, my elbow thrusting back into the hard, packed snow behind me.

The snow grunted.

“Eric!” I struggled onto my knees, my coat and jeans heavy with snow. Eric had landed between me and a tree trunk. He was pushing himself out of the snow, his clothes thick with it, his hair matted white.

“Are you hurt?” he said, hands reaching for me and running over my limbs.

“Are you?” I gasped, scanning him head to toe for blood, and then patting him all over, my hands tangling with his. “You didn't hit a branch? Are you sure?”

He scoffed. “Of course not. I am too fast.”

Something occurred to me then. “You let me go!”

“To make sure the sledge did not hit you.” He pointed behind me and I turned to look. The sledge was in pieces, smashed against a rock. Our landing had ploughed a huge furrow in the bank of snow.

“Look how fast we were going! What if you hit a tree? Or a piece of the sledge hit you? Eric, you could have been —”

“Hush, woman. No branch would pierce this.” He slapped his leather jacket, over his heart, dislodging snow from his shoulders. And his hair. It dusted his eyebrows and his eyelashes. Cursing, he wiped it away with the back of his hand, dislodging more snow from his arm.

He looked like he belonged in a snow globe. I looked down at myself and realised I didn't look much better. Our eyes met, my lips twitched and that was it: we burst out laughing.

His deep chuckles reverberated around the clearing, shaking loose wispy flurries from the branches above us. That made me laugh even harder, until his arms gathered me up and his tongue, cold and wet, silenced me.

When he let go, I leaned my head on his chest and squeezed his waist. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Eric. Look at us, our first proper date.”

He squeezed back. “The orgy did not count?”

I lifted my head and rolled me eyes. “I told you, that wasn't a date. This was way more fun.”

“It was.” His lips twitched. “And I did not have to wear pink Lycra and pretend to be gay.”

“Oh, I don't know.” I giggled. “Pink suits you.”

“Hm. Perhaps this night will end with less … frustration.” His eyes were dark now and he pressed the length of his body against me, raising my internal temperature by ten degrees.

Unfortunately my external temperature was dropping rapidly. A shiver racked me, chattering my teeth.

“You are cold,” he said, pursing his lips.

“Yes. How about we go back to that fire of yours?”

He pulled me to my feet, knocked most of the snow off me and swung me up on his back. I settled my legs around him and he hooked his arms around them. “Ready?” he asked. I nodded and he was off, running down the slope.

~~00~~

Humming, I stood in front of the mirror, combing out my hair. I was much warmer after our shower. Eric did fit under there, and he'd found some inventive ways to use the bathroom fixtures. My jar was full to the brim.

Eric came out of the bathroom, towelling his hair. That did interesting things to his chest muscles, and I peeked at them in the mirror. He stopped when he caught me looking and smirked. “See something you like, lover?”

I laughed. “You just love being admired, don't you? I should've known it was you on that throne, at the centre of attention.”

“Ah, but you did not know.”

“Nope,” I said, popping the p. “I had no idea.”

“You did not recognise me at all.” He pouted and shook his head, wet hair glistening in the firelight. “Not even when we danced.”

“Oh hush, you,” I said, turning back to the mirror. “All that knowing your special someone anywhere, that only happens in trashy romances and fairy tales. And you don't believe in that stuff any more than I do.”

I waited for a quip about fairies, but none came. Sensing something was off I looked round. Eric was gone. I leaned back and caught sight of him in the bathroom, hanging up his towel.

Crap.

For Eric to break off a conversation that presented an opportunity for teasing was unusual enough for me to sit up and take notice. To break off a conversation like that to hang up wet towels?

Something was very wrong.

Was he really hurt that I hadn't recognised him?

It didn't seem likely. Eric wasn't exactly a sensitive soul. Oh. Wait a minute. When I went to Fangtasia that time to borrow a bartender for Sam, back when Eric still had no memory of our time together, we'd danced and he said I felt familiar in his arms. Yeah, that had to be it. He thought this thing between us was more one-sided than it was, and that was chapping his ass. Eric did not like being at a disadvantage anymore than I did.

I'd better do something about that.

I leaned against the bathroom doorway, a little saddened to find he'd slipped on some sweats and wasn't naked. He was leaning on the sink, back to me and deep in thought.

“Hey,” I said. “A penny for them.”

“Hm?”

“Your thoughts. It's really bothering you that I didn't know you, isn't it?”

He looked up and his reflection gave me a crooked smile. “Be careful Sookie. I might think you can read my mind.”

I waved that off. “Please. You hung up towels, you never do that. Is it … because I felt familiar, that time we danced at Fangtasia? You couldn't remember anything else, but you could remember that. So I should've have known you from the way you danced.”

“No. Something else.” He took my hand and led me to the bed. I sat beside him. “Did you never wonder why Hallow's curse sent me to you, Sookie? Why I ended up running down your road that night?”

I shook my head.

“Hallow cursed me to be close to my heart's desire and never know it.”

Oh. His heart's desire. So he'd had feelings for me even then, maybe even lo—

His cell phone rang, over on the nightstand.

We both turned to look at it. Shit. That would be Felipe, I just knew it. He had the worst damn timing. Eric picked it up and disappeared out onto the landing. I picked at the sheets, half trying to listen, half trying not to hear. Eric was pacing out there. He came back ten minutes later and his face, long and serious, spoke for him.

“You have to go,” I said quietly.

“Yes. Tomorrow, as soon as I rise.” He put the phone down and sat on the bed, his back to me. The slump of his shoulders about broke my heart. “We should say good-bye now.”

“How angry is Felipe?”

“It is hard to say, but there will be … repercussions.” His voice was flat, cold. “You have Talwynn's number. ”

I crawled over the bed and put my hand on his back. “I won't use it. I'll be back before Christmas, just like I planned. That gives Felipe another week to cool off.”

He turned to face me, a storm in his eyes. “A week will not be enough, Sookie. Stay here.”

“I don't care. I'm coming back, Eric.” I took a deep breath. “Whatever happens, we face it together. From now on.”

He blinked twice. He couldn't have looked more surprised if I'd sprouted horns and a tail. “Sookie...”

Hitting him with all the determination and affection and love I had, I said firmly, “We should bond again too. Before you leave. If you still want that, I mean.”

He stared at me for a long time, his eyes searching mine. I met them and didn't look away. Finally, that stoic mask of his cracked into a wide, beautiful smile that made those butterflies in my stomach loop-de-loop like crazy. “Yes, Sookie. I want that very much.”

~~00~~

EPILOGUE 

Stretched out on the couch in my robe, I tucked the afghan around me and watched the sky darkening over the woods. I'd lit a fire and the Yule log sat by the hearth ready to be burnt at midnight. Amelia had graciously left it here and gone to Tray's for the night to give me some privacy.

I'd kept my word and I'd come back to Louisiana almost a fortnight ago. I was still alive and free, but it had been a tense and lonely Christmas. Lonely because Amelia spent it with Tray and I hadn't seen Eric except for an hour on the night I got home. Tense because Eric had been called to Nevada again, over Victor's disappearance.

He'd left Pam in charge of Area 5. Thalia and Bubba had been on permanent night duty at the Stackhouse residence, Alcide and a few of his Weres had been paid to work the day shift. Eric was taking no chances with my life. I'd phoned Pam every night for updates, but all she could tell me was that Eric was still with us. And I knew that myself from his presence humming merrily away in my blood.

Officially Felipe couldn't prove Victor had been ended, but vampires being the gossips they were it was widely known that Victor was missing and that Eric was prime suspect. That left Felipe only two ways to save face: make an example of Eric or make it look like Eric was following his orders all along, after demonstrating his authority and making sure Eric knew his place, naturally.

Eric and Pam were convinced Felipe would go with option number two, mainly because it made Felipe look like a devious backstabbing bastard. That was the sort of reputation for which vampire kings would actually betray and end their own regents.

I hadn't been so sure. I'd been on tenterhooks while Eric was in Nevada, unable to relax until I saw him with my own eyes.

In the end, he got off lightly. Well, that's what Pam said, but the size of the fine he had to pay sure didn't seem light to me. Technically, the fine was for letting an important asset (that would be me) leave the state without permission and not for Victor's untimely demise, but we all knew otherwise. Eric had finally landed on my doorstep just before dawn this morning. We'd only had about five minutes to speak before he had to get in the cubbyhole.

So it was New Year's Eve and I was waiting on sunset and my honey.

I'd taken the night off this year. After Eric blew in at dawn, I'd spent the day pampering myself in anticipation of a long overdue reunion. And a belated Christmas gift exchange: I'd left the pink parcel from Athena's on the bed in the spare room with a note instructing Eric to open it.

The sky was just dark when I felt Eric rise. I kept my feelings quiescent so he didn't shoot out of there to find me. Soon I heard him moving around and shortly after I sensed a burst of surprise and pleasure from the bond that I hoped was because he'd opened his gift. The first stars were beginning to shine when he appeared in the lounge. He was barefoot, in jeans and a tee.

“Hello lover,” he said. He leaned over the couch and laid an enthusiastic kiss on me. “Thank you for the gifts,” he purred. “They fit perfectly.”

Flipping the afghan over the back of the couch, I got up and looked him up and down. Experimenting, I let a little trickle of lust into the bond. “Which ones are you wearing?”

“That would be telling.” He grinned. “Why don't you come over here and find out?”

“Oh, I don't think I need do that,” I said, grinning madly back.

He raised an eyebrow.

I fixed my eyes on his, held out my hand, and silently thought the words I'd picked at Athena's, words I was never going to admit to Eric: _Your ass is mine._

With a quiet pop and the smell of ozone, a pair of red briefs landed on my outstretched palm. Eric's eyes widened comically and his mouth fell open. It was glorious.

“Of course. The red ones,” I said as calmly as I could, trying my damnedest not to giggle.

He blinked and picked his jaw off the floor. “Yes. It is New Year. It seemed … fitting.”

“Here. Why don't you put them back on.” I held them out and he looked from the scrap of fabric to me.

“How did you do that? The witch?”

“Amelia,” I corrected automatically. “No, Athena had a new line in enchanted underwear.”

He lifted the briefs gingerly off my palm. “And only you can summon them?”

“Uh-huh.”

He disappeared and was back in a flash, empty-handed and still in jeans and tee. His eyes were sparkling. “Do it again.”

I held my hand out and thought the magic words. _Pop._ Black silk draped over my fingers.

Eric threw his head back and laughed.

“You like my party trick?”

“Yes. Very much, lover.”

His eyes were hot now and he had that predatory stillness about him that signalled trouble. My breath caught. With Eric trouble came in two kinds: where humans had flight or fight responses, with Eric it was very much fuck or fight, and the amount of lust barrelling down the bond told me we weren't about to fight.

His fangs were down and he licked his lips. “Sookie, what exactly are you wearing under that robe?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” I said, taking a step back. The robe was all I had on.

He stalked closer and I backed away until my legs hit the couch. Reaching out, he ran a hand down the front of the robe, his fingers sliding under its edge. Finding only bare skin between my breasts, he growled appreciatively, his mouth twitching when my breath quickened.

“Wait here,” he ordered. He was back in a second, naked except for a tiny scrap of red fabric which did not leave anything to my imagination. Eric was very ready and very willing.

And so was I.

He took hold of the belt on my robe and smirked at me. “I believe we are even, Miss Stackhouse. Summon away.”


End file.
